Suit Girl
by counselor
Summary: He's just an employee. She's all buttoned-down, fiance in the bag. He's just charming Edward, the third-wheel with his cheap bottles of wine. So what is Jacob all upset about? He's not her obsession. He's a bit of a distraction, but she's not a two-timer. She's his boss. That's all. And she's so tired of defending it. Especially to herself.
1. Chapter 1

The thing about that young man, my employee Edward Cullen, sometimes he can look a mess. A real mess with that wild hair. And you think…he's not so much. He's over-rated. Over-blown. And then, in the same sixty minutes that you thought that he turns to say something, makes a joke usually, and he's laughing, and it's all so…so engrossing you end up losing your train of thought and looking like a…dimwit.

I wait for him to fail me. I think if he does, I can get free of this…not obsession really…this interest. This heightened interest that…not chokes really…but strangles me a bit. Broccoli in his teeth or something. Explosive vomiting or…yes I'll say it…diarrhea perhaps. Something to make him human, so human, it will break the spell, but even that would only inspire mercy…and more commitment on my part to…to…like him…very much.

I'm too old for this for one thing. I'm too…sensible and dependable. I'm too, too, too down-to-earth and predictable. And engaged. I am very, very engaged.

Anyway, people want me to be what they think I am. Particularly my fiancé Jacob. And rightfully so.

I should say I own a little men's clothing shop. And we tailor. It's quite a special place, stuffy, as in small. Not…stuffy as in…stiffling.

And it's survived in this city…in spite of all of the competition. Let me tell you what happened with men's suits—imports. Cheap imports. You don't have to worry if you outgrow your jacket or your pants, there's another shiny twofer sale around the corner. Throw out one and buy two!

I can't stand the throw-away aspect of our society. It makes me—well Edward says it's one of my many eccentricities, and I shouldn't apologize for it.

My aunt says to watch him. The charmers are only after one thing. Your money.

It doesn't occur to Aunt Sue that he could be hopeful for more than that. I am, after all, a female…inside. I mean, I wear men's suits…suits I make myself. So it's masculine…perhaps.

I took over Dad's shop straight out of college. Thank goodness for that degree in Social Work.

That was sarcasm. And I'm not sarcastic as a rule. Edward says…oh for Pete's sake, there I go again.

It doesn't matter anyway. He's thinking of moving and well, he's looked into that job…in California. Near his family. Imagine that…he has a family. I suppose they will take up all of his time, probably. One of the things I love most about him is how…available he is for…overtime. Or being the third wheel at anything pretty much. Him and his lovely little bottles of cheap wine. He's so darling to bring them to…everything.

Jacob makes fun of him, but Jacob has that short-sightedness about Edward like he sees through a force-field of jealousy. I never realized such a complication was in Jacob's make-up until Edward entered the picture. For pity sakes, I have professed a different kind of love for Jacob a million times in the last year. I'm on strike now. Jacob can believe I love him…as my fiancé…and him only in that capacity or he can…chew on a shoe. I'm not having that conversation again. I do not laugh more loudly at Edward's jokes or smile like I'm stuck on that button when Edward is around. I am reserved by nature. Everyone says so, but Jacob makes me sound like Corky the Clown when Edward's about.

I know inside I have a little struggle and it's mine to get over and I handle it very…very well.

Honor before indulgence. Duty before…pleasure. I will honor my engagement and always put my duty as a good…almost wife over any silly attraction. I'm engaged, not dead. But I'm living like I'm dead. I mean engaged.

I am so not confused.

I have to go now. Edward is due to arrive for work and I wanted to have a moment to…unpack the Cashmere before…others…come in and steal his…attention. To the work. Don't read a bunch of stuff into this that I am not saying.

PM: Hello Readers! My book, Deep in the Heart of Me is now available on Amazon. Writing as Diane Munier. Thanks.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

"I don't think that's the point," I say, shimmying in the expensive leather counselor's chair so I can smooth my pant legs. I hate wrinkles, and this material has a good bit of silk so it's prone to crease.

Oh. We're having our weekly session of premarital counseling. Jacob's idea. I was excited about it. At first. Now? I resent the time. And we've just finished up on 'handling conflict,' and Jacob said, "Compromise is a great way to get what you want," and I said, "I don't think that's the point," so that's where we're at.

Andrews reads us a textbook definition of marriage. My stomach growls, and I am thinking about little chicken sandwiches and how the right sliced pickle makes all the difference.

There is more talking from Andrews then Jacob rattles something off, and I think I can get the fries because I walked the day before, and Andrews seems so happy with Jacob's answer.

"It seems like marriage requires a lot of sacrifices," Jacob says. He's beaming. And…unkindly…I notice again how Juvenile his face looks. I wonder if that will change? Even when he grows a scruff it doesn't take it away. Okay. I vowed I wouldn't think it again. But it's Edward's fault. He'd had too much to drink after one of our Sunday dinners. He's a loveable…lush. I call him that. I used too before it became another bullet point on Jacob's irritation list. But I called him the Loveable Lush and Jake picked up on it, only he said it one night…hatefully, and Edward retaliated…"Baby Cheeks." And I laughed so hard I cried and fell off of my chair.

So…I am not using 'Loveable Lush,' any longer, but I'm thinking, "Baby Cheeks." I'm thinking it now.

"Bella?" Mrs. Andrews says, meaning it's my turn to remark on her definition of marriage which she read already, but I remembered what Edward said to a customer earlier in the day. He said, "I think it's more about the journey, Mrs. Parks."

I only came in on the tail-end of their conversation. But he had her. He has all of them. My sales are up. He's…a perfect model. I'm always saying, "Here, try this. You'll look fabulous in this." At least he doesn't peel off right there as he did when first hired. He lifted his shirt and…he's very lean. I prefer it, so shoot me. Jacob and his bulky…meat. It's like roast beef, like slabs of….

I don't mean to compare them. How hideous!

"Bella?" Mrs. Andrews says.

"Bella!" Jacob.

"I'm thinking," I say rather tensely to my beloved. Then more kindly to the counselor, "Just thinking. Want to get this right and all. I really do. Marriage. So…important!"

"Why don't we let it go until next week?" Andrews says tiredly. She gives us another 'conversation page.'

I love taking these to work. These are the deep topics and situations for the nearly married to ponder. I think Andrews is trying to talk us out of it sometimes!

But I take these to work and read them to Edward while we eat lunch. He comes up with the best quips. I have to stifle my laughter in the actual session remembering his answers.

I'll miss him.

If he moves…I'll, really miss him. He…he makes me laugh. So what? Laughter is good medicine. I mean…that's like a wise saying.

So I ask Andrews, hoping to end on a good note. "So how important is laughter to a good marriage?"

"Critically important," she says, turning the lightness in my question to lead. I mean critically is for the ICU.

"Oh," I say. Subject closed for me.

"We don't laugh together," Jacob says like he just admitted to bank robbery.

"We do too!" I say shrilly. I laugh a little to make my point.

"We used to," he says.

My eyes search frantically for the clock. Andrews is very sensitive to this. Normally. She never goes over an hour. You can be crying about your dead mom, your dead dog, your dead mom holding your dead dog and she will never go over.

"Why is that?" she says as the minute hand starts to move.

"I laugh," I say defensively.

"Not with me," he says shifting around, his bottom lips jutting. Like a little punk.

"With your doppelganger then," I say.

"Remember our skills," Andrews says, referring I suppose to all that gobbly-gook we'd gone over at the beginning of our session.

"Bella?"

"Yes?"

"Our skills?"

"Okay."

"No. What skill would you use now in a real conflict?" she says.

"This is real," Jacob says, lips all bunchy.

"No, it's not," I kind of laugh. Scoff.

"Yes it is," he says.

"Bella?" Andrews, "Your skills?"

"I…have to go to the bathroom," me. "My bladder is set for an hour." I laugh again. Alone.


	3. Chapter 3

Suit Girl 3

"Listen to this one," I say to Edward before crunching a carrot stick. I'm sitting on two cases of long-sleeved button-downs, and he's sitting on one case of black socks. "What did your father teach you about love that you think you've brought into the relationship?"

Pop goes the fun. I thought it said, 'What did your father teach you about love that you know was pure bull-hockey or something.'

"Man," he says, "just ask an impossible question, huh?" He takes a bite of his hoagy.

I laugh. "Don't let it ruin your appetite."

He chews and smiles with a full mouth and just as I thought, I can't find a thing, not to admire. The picture he makes. That blue shirt. I knew it was perfect. I think I picked the color…for him…it had that hint of green. Yeah, perfect. And open at the neck? Where is this boy's tie? I laugh…ask…myself.

"It's not ruining my appetite," he says pulling me back to the poop-bag question.

"Why not? It's kind of ruining mine," I say, another chomp on my rabbit food.

"You don't say much about him," he says.

"Jacob?"

"The other dad," he says all tricky like. Another bite. Big smile.


	4. Chapter 4

Suit Girl 4

"You do too take pot-shots at him. And I have no one to blame but myself. I have created a monster…laughing at your inappropriate comments," I say to Edward.

"Like what?" he says licking his fingers and rolling his sandwich wrapper.

"Baby Cheeks?" I say, mock-stern.

Now here's where I blow it. He stares at me, and I laugh. I laugh like he just said it. He laughs too. He looks really happy, in fact.

"It's not funny," I say laughing. I am a two-timing ridiculous wench. I'm betraying my own fiancé. The one I plan to spend the rest of my life with. The one I am to create oneness with. Whatever that means, and mostly I think of us running a sack race every time Andrews uses that expression.

And what am I doing it for? A pair of sparkling green eyes that belong to…him and whomever…he ends up with. In California where the whole state wears thong bikinis.

And I'm so…shallow. I am making fun of my…guy. I'm dung.

"You're right," Edward says standing and tossing his trash like a pro. Of course, it goes in the metal can with a nice thunk. He imitates a cheering crowd. "If I were Jacob I'd be pissed at you. Oh, wait…he is. All the time."

I'm not laughing now. "What does that mean?"

"You make fun of him. And he takes it. You don't respect him for that. He's stuck. He…doesn't know how to get out of it. He's…Baby Cheeks."

I make a sound. Okay, I smile big, but I'm ready to cry too. "I should be...deported," I whisper. I clear my throat. "I have no character."

"You do," he says, matter-of-factly, dusting his hands off. "That's the thing. It's not Jacob. He begs for it. It's…not you. You're not being you. You're doing that…because it's…a bad fit. It's wrong."

"Suit analogy? Really?'

"Just trying to make my point," he says. Big smile.

"What is your point?" I say, already knowing, understanding.

"Forget it. You're a smart girl. Anyway, it's not my business. I'm not here to bust up your…marriage. Right? I'm here to meet with the groom and his guys about those tuxes."

"You don't think I should marry Jacob," I say. I have never said it before. I have never thought it. I have never put it in a sentence and punctuated it.

"What? Don't lay that on me, Boss-lady." He leaves then. He goes into the storefront, and I am left sitting on the crates holding a damn inch of carrot.


	5. Chapter 5

Suit Girl 5

"Bella, excuse me," Edward says in a singsong voice as I am blocking the register.

"I'm almost done," I say very firmly, but not too firmly as a customer is listening.

Now he's made me forget what I'd been writing. Yes, I still use handwritten ledgers. Big deal. He's upset me so I can't think. Looks like soon, we won't be laughing either.

When the customer is gone, he stands very near, one elbow on the counter. He always smells good. Even after Indian food. Curry on him is exotic. I make Jacob gargle and shower.

It's ridiculous.

"Reason you're stealing my air?" I say without looking up.

"You're upset with me," he says.

Wow. I've truly never been upset with him before. It is…shocking that he'd say it…outright.

"It's nothing," I say, writing pretend numbers because I really can't remember what I'd been doing.

He puts his hand on my wrist and stills the writing process. I have studied the male form. It's my job. There are many parts I admire. All of his. But a man's forearm, wrist, hand, fingers….

His are…hard to ignore. I wait to see them every working day, moving around my store, handling…my inventory. Fine art. That's all. Just…fine.

One is touching me. I can look nowhere else as the feelings slam through me. I can push this…and what? Let him hold me while I pretend to cry so he can take it all away? I'm not free to do that, to pursue that potentially colossal misread.

"One thing I know," I say through years of braces and a follow-up with Invisalign, "I was happy before you…."

He takes his hand away. "Really? That was you being happy? I didn't know."

I look at him. He is close and…he means this.

"I thought we were friends," I say so weakly.

"Yes. You said you'd created a monster. I get it. You don't…fraternize. I broke your rules. I guess you should have protected them better."

"My God. Are you looking to get fired?"

"Oh. So we aren't friends? Not all the way, huh? I don't behave I get the boot?"

"No…I…."

"What then? We have one honest talk, and you bring out the cannon."

"No…I…."

"Fire me. It will help. It will be great. I'll know what to do. I'll finally know what to do."

He walks away, around the counter. He starts to clean up from the fitting, and his movements are snappy and angry? I've never seen this side of him.

"What is wrong with you today?" I say forgetting all my premarital training about confrontation. There was something about…identify the issue and stick to it?

Well, here's the issue. I'm not marrying him.

No. What I mean is. I'm marrying Jacob. That's the issue.

Is that the issue?


	6. Chapter 6

Suit Girl 6

Edward finished cleaning up, and I watch the whole time. The angry grace. No wonder they want him to model. He'd been here a week when he was 'discovered' by an agent wanting to ship him off to Goldrush country. How convenient. Right near Mama. Not that he's a Mama's boy. But he might be. It took him forever to find the right Mother's Day card.

Oh God, please let him be, sickly, sickly tied to his mother so I can find rest for my soul so disgust can squeeze out this…distraction?

"I can't believe we're talking like this," I finally say. 'We' is my compromise. I remember that one. Andrews said, 'Give a little, get a little. Compromise.'

I didn't know premarital counseling would come in so handy for…work.

"Yeah," he says. He steps to the counter then. Like always, I'm looking up. The three feet of polished Mahogany island between us is like a border not to be crossed.

"We should start over," I offer. I'm Andrews now. It's nearly a condescending tone with a last minute save toward a slight lift of my conciliatory eyebrows. At least I hope so.

"Yeah. I've…been an ass. Jacob…he's a really good guy. Solid." He knocks on the counter and makes a face, and I think of constipation. Not that his face is…s-h-i-t…it's the expression. Like charades. I'd say, "Constipated," here if we were…playing. But we're not. So…I stay quiet.

"I think we've discussed him enough," I say.

"Oh…we have," he agrees. Eye contact. "And I have no right. Like I said."

"What…brought this all…why now? It seems sudden," I say. Yes, put the blame on him. That tactic I didn't learn in counseling.

He just keeps staring at me.

"I mean," I say, "you said some pretty…strong things there. Jacob not bringing out my best?"

"I didn't say that," he snaps. "I didn't blame him."

Blame. Hmm. "Okay. You blame me then. I'm what? A phony I believe…."

"I didn't…," he tries to interject.

"…you said. Phony. That's what…how I took it."

"I'm not responsible for how you took it," he says.

Oh. Andrews said that. Something…something…and we're not responsible for how people react. "Have you been to counseling?" I ask.

"I seem that together to you?" he says. The old smirk. Thank God.

"Oh let's get back to how we were this morning," I say already longing for what we had. Before lunch when everything went to hell.

"I was upset this morning. Ready to explode. But if you want to go back there…."

"Why were you upset?"

He looks at the bar and rubs his thumb on a scuff mark then. Dad took this out of his favorite tavern when they had a fire. He refinished it himself and served up suits and socks instead of beers. That scuff mark Edward is working on…thinks he can fix? That's character.

"I'm leaving end of the month."

I am airless. I literally can't inhale. Two hands on the counter and an open mouth and I can't…suck.

He looks at me. "You alright?"

I thunk my middle against the counter. If not CPR it's a little like the Heimlich. It gets me going again.

"I…have to advertise. I…" The Heimlich's not working. I can't breathe.


	7. Chapter 7

Suit Girl 7

"Thanks for seeing me alone," I say to Andrews. If you'd have told me, I'd be doing this, I would have asked you what you were smoking.

But here I am. The mighty have fallen.

"Did you do your homework?" Andrews asks.

Homework?

"Remember in the email I asked you to answer the last conversation page to begin our discussion."

"You did? Oh, I'm so sorry! I've been really busy. Fall weddings!" I make the fake gun and shoot myself in the temple. Then I think…yeah not so good.

She doesn't even blink. "I can't care more about your life than you do." She stands. "I'll be back in thirty minutes. We'll start to work through your answers in the time we have left."

"Um…I don't have a copy…I left it at home."

Again she isn't happy, she isn't sad. She doesn't hate me. Doesn't love me. She digs in a drawer and hands me another copy.

"Paper?" I nearly whisper. Then I quickly dig through my purse. "I have a pen!"

She reaches for a clean notebook, hands me that and says, "Thirty minutes." Then she's out.

I tap my pen on the notebook and look at the first question. Oh, I hate this one. I skip it. And the next. And then I hit the Kahuna. Mother…fload. The one I shared with Edward. The one that set us on our path of destruction that day at work.

He didn't make it to the end of the month. He left at the end of the week.

It didn't get better. It just kept degrading. Until we couldn't work together, couldn't eat lunch together, couldn't stand the silence. I became the phony he accused me of being. And we quit laughing. At all.

"You're really going?" I said that last day after he handed in a mountain of clothing I insisted he keep, and he didn't keep. He left it in the back room, and I'd buried my face in it, just that morning, for the tenth…hundredth time and wept. It now smelled more like me than him.

And I'd called Andrews and asked if she'd see me alone.


	8. Chapter 8

Suit Girl 8

"Yeah, see," I say as I release the pant leg I've just pinned to the customer's satisfaction.

He turns to the side. "Yeah. Nice."

I smile at him and raise from my knees. Yes, I kneel in a three-way. Mirror. I have to do it all of the time as I pin those pant legs just so.

Hence my diet of gerbil food and herbal shakes. I can't run. I can't hide.

Currently, I'm working on James. He always buys the best, and he likes it just so. A real lady killer. According to him. He's a throwback…to the days when Dad was alive, and a man got more than a suit at Swan's Clothiers. Old times sake.

"Where's the guy?" he says now, removing the pants. His man takes them. Yes, he has a man, even here.

I keep my eyes averted, and 'the man' gives me the pants which I proceed to hang for Alice, the tailor who comes on Thursdays.

"Edward," I say. James knows Edward's name. "He went…home."

"Where's home? He looked like New York. Queens." Masquerading as Manhattan. Yeah, I'd heard him say that to Edward once.

"No. He's Californ…i…a. He…models."

That irks James some. He buckles his pants and makes a face.

I suck in a big breath and get ready to shovel, "Yeah. He was too much for my little shop. He's…been discovered. Well, he's modeled on and off since…," I look up at the antique light fixtures original to the shop, "…I don't know." I smile at James.

His man takes care of the bill.

"How's the intended," James says, standing at the bar, hands folded and blue dial on his Rolex making time look smart.

"Jacob?" I say.

"Still wearing that ring. I only see it because I'm wearing my contacts," he smirks.

I don't dignify it. I smile and ring the sale. 'The man' signs.

James leans closer. "You get bored…you know where to find me."

I do. His father owns the office building up the block. James has his offices there. I'm not sure what he does. But it pays.

Another smile from me. He leaves and tears spring forth.

I touch my cheeks, and they are already damp. I cry now. Since last night with Andrews, I'm a regular fountain. Huh.

The previous evening Andrews had returned to our first session expecting me, I presume, to have finished my homework. But I never got to that. I just broke down.

She was very kind. Told me it was all in a day's work for her. I loaded her trashcan with used Kleenexes and staggered out of there at the appointed time. But here's what she said—she told me to take the notebook home and fill it with my story.

"Wh…wh…what story?" I said, very clogged and with a new stammer.

"Everything," she said. "Start at the beginning. Your dad. Your mom? Why not. Jacob."

"You…you think something is wrong…with me. Us. I mean," massive clearing of the throat here, "I really came…."

"To see how to fix Jacob?" she interrupted.

Yes. Exactly that. "No," I said. "No, of course not."

So I staggered out, to my car and went home and threw the notebook in a safe corner. Safe from my vision and I threw myself on the bed and passed out until morning.

But in the morning, on my way to do my morning business, I saw the notebook and rescued it, threw it on the bed. Later, I opened it to the blank page and started to write.

'Dad,' she'd said. Mom. Jacob.

I didn't start there. I started with Edward. That first day. The day I…woke up.


	9. Chapter 9

Suit Girl 9

At first, it was just an, "Oh."

I turned around, and he was there. There was interest. He looked…expensive. And James knew it by the way, hence the need to categorize Edward the way he did. Edward Cullen did not lack.

So he walked in on a Tuesday morning. "Hello. You are the lady of the establishment." He said it as fact. He'd been sent by a friend who knew me—knew I was looking for the right kind of help since Aro had retired.

"Also the man," I said and stuck out my hand. I never do that. I'm a whatchamacallit, germ conscious phobe.

But I think I wanted to touch him. I saw him. And I touched him.

His hand was warm. Not sweaty. I think I hired him then.

But I didn't know. I honestly thought he was selling something.

"I'm Edward Cullen. Please tell me Emmett gave you a heads-up." What a smile. Endearing.

But the beauty…how could I face that every day and boss him around? See I couldn't boss Aro. He was Dad's man and he never quite submitted to the idea that Dad was gone, and I wasn't. Sometimes I felt like I worked for him. So I really wanted the next one to be…pliable. And I did want a male. There's a definite place for having at least one around in my business. A model. I do my best but…they don't always relate to me, and the older ones won't even try. As a matter of fact, wearing the goods probably costs me as many sales as it makes me. With the gents. But I do get some ladies. Alice tailors beautifully. Almost as well as myself. We make them look dapper. Sexy dapper, of course.

I saw his potential. And I saw him.

"You're the complete image…male and female," he said.

"Yes. Inner…scratch and spit, outer…ah…."

He did a quick sweep. "The suit is beautifully made," he said, a red flush in his face. And that so tore me out of the nest that I went behind the counter for the application.

A/N Do I have your email? I sure would like to have it! That way I could harass you about upcoming work and other stuff where I beg you to vote on stuff to advance my struggle as a poor Indie author. Here's mine: dianemunierauthor Now show me yours!

thanks


	10. Chapter 10

Suit Girl 10

The thing is, the day of my appointment with Andrews I have ten pages on Edward Cullen. And my pen isn't even broken in yet. I mean ink flows. So of course, I cancel my appointment and buy another week. She didn't say to write about Edward, see. That's the thing.

But here's some of what I wrote…on my tangent:

There's the day I pretended not to hire Edward until I read over the application and checked his references, even though I knew, of course, that I would hire him, even if he just got out of jail. For breaking and entering.

And there's his first day at work.

I flit, I fly around him, I flop. I am so up in the air Alice sees it. "What is with you?" she says when I can't get the prices right for the tuxedoes we are leasing for one of our many, many weddings.

"I'm…it's the new guy. I'm not used…I mean…far cry from Aro."

"Um…yeah."

"And…he'll probably be bored out of his mind."

"You're worried your employee will be bored? Do you worry if I'm bored?"

"Are you?"

She joins me in watching Edward fold a pile of shirts just like I taught him and she sighs, "Not anymore."

I peer over at him feeling…many things. He's caught on to everything like a champ. And his pants fit…very well—no buckling in the thighs, no stress across the ass, and they break correctly over his shoes.

"He's…overqualified. What's a guy that looks like that doing in my little shop?"

"Ah, you interviewed him, right?"

"Of course."

"What did he say?"

"He said he wants to learn more about men's clothing. He might have a chance to buy into a shop, and he wants to understand the business from the ground up. He's even interested in designing."

"He said all of that? What…you're training your competition?"

"No. Not in Chicago. His…future is in California. Where he's from."

"He seems really…," we both laugh because yes, he is, "but did you need to hire someone with one foot out the door?" Alice says.

"He said it's more of an investment opportunity, and he doesn't have to live there. Apparently," and I'm saying this out of the corner of my mouth, "he's made some bucks mugging for the camera and he wants to plant his seed…financially speaking."

Alice laughs and slaps my arm. She's already been married for five years to the nicest guy in the world, but the thought of Cullen planting…gets us both pretty giddy.

"Bella Swan," Alice says, "you're all over the place about him."

I shrug. I'm kind of proud of it at that point. I can be wild and crazy with the best of them.

"Wait until Jacob sees him," she says before ramping up her sewing machine. "Maybe you hired 'his' competition."

I grab one of the little ponytails that sprout from the top of her head and twist.

She whines a little and sews even faster.

There's the chapter about how small my shop is. I never felt it like now, not even when we stock Christmas inventory. But showing Edward every nook and cranny…of the place…proves to be a rubbing …elbows experience.

I feel sorry for the guy. He's so polite! His mother must be a total gem. The one I hope he is secretly overly attached to. Because I have issues with mothers as mine bailed on me when I was six, so him being overly attached would be something to hang my hat on. Or a fence to encompass my mental playground.

I'm showing him how I process inventory. I'm at the end of a small cramped aisle and Edward is crowded next to me. "Clip the tag, that's the thing," I say, a little snip of my scissors. Then I launch into my spiel on Bright Future where I donate some of my overstock. It gives men who are getting back into society some nice duds for their job interviews.

Edward is so excited over that. Like me, like many young entrepreneurs, business is more than making a profit, it's how you pay it forward. He asks so many questions. "You're impressive, Bella. Your business model, your work ethic."

I suddenly have so much saliva, hope I'm not doing a TMI, but then I'm not sharing this with Andrews anyway so I'm going for it, but at the moment he gushes…compliments me, I have to do this really loud swallow that sounds like I just lifted the plug on a sink of dishwater.

I clear my throat and continue, "I just…it makes it…more. You know?" My voice is strangely, chirpy…to my own ears, and I have this hip accent I stole just now from a movie or something.

He is smiling at me, pointing at my cheek. I feel there. Nothing. He makes a noise in his throat, he's almost saying something and I lean a little closer, my brow furrowed and he touches my cheek and shows me the offending piece of lint.

"Oh," I say, emotions fluming from the clench that had seized me when he'd moved in and I began to recite the Serenity Prayer.

"Oh," I say again, too loudly, laugh too shrilly. "Oh." Oh damn, oh darn, oh…what? Oh no!

I'm just being honest here.


	11. Chapter 11

Suit Girl 11

And there's the first of many times we talk clothes. I take off my jacket to show him the cut. I use my body to draw lines. "I'm going to cut it higher in the arm for British or Italian," I'm saying.

He is looking at me, all over me. It's the clothes. We're talking clothes so I have to get used to it. It's the business I'm in. We look at how things fit. We look at people's bodies where others can focus on something else, we are selling image.

"It's Italian," he says, noting I've cut my jacket with higher pockets, tighter fulcrum.

"Yes," I say. It's so fun to have someone new who's interested. Well, Alice is, of course, but a man to talk with who understands how exciting clothing is. It's the way we present ourselves.

"You have an Italian suit? You model with the Italians?"

He laughs. "With the Italians? Yeah. Some." He's blushing.

"You have the body for it…that closer cut, those high pockets. If you're fit…like…you are, then an Italian suit…." I don't finish. We're laughing. "An Italian suit will get you…?"

"Scopare, maybe," he laughs.

I go in the backroom repeating 'scopare,' in search of the men's jacket Alice had been working on. It will fit him. I can tell these things at a glance. I bring it forward. He takes his place before the mirror. He has removed his suit jacket and he's in his crisp white button-down. I slide the jacket up his arms and smooth the just tight shoulders. He knows how to wear it. The fulcrum is cut just a bit too snug, and he shrugs a little and buttons it.

"Oh," I say from behind him, looking at his length in the mirror. I tug on the end of the jacket, making it smooth. "Now that's…." Well, what can I say? He's stunning. He accepts it. It's what he is. "Perfect."

"Grazie, bella signora," he says. His smile is…well, we are too close. But at that moment we are kind of matched. Not in looks. I'm not chopped liver, but come on. It's not Beauty and the Beast, me being the Beast, but there is a similarity. No, we kind of go together. Our hair is close in color, my reds more subtle, but we're both wearing white shirts, long sleeves, and black suit pants, black shoes.

"This would make a great campaign," he says, also noting, apparently, the interesting picture.

"Oh," I scoff, "you perhaps. I'm behind the scenes."

"No, look around a little more, more shoulder," he says.

I refuse the self-consciousness that nags at me and move a little more from behind him.

"Hands on my shoulders," he says.

I put my hands there again.

"One on my waist," he says.

I do that. Lightly.

"I won't bite," he laughs.

"I know," I say pathetically, then, "I'm the boss."

He laughs. Then we grow still, holding that pose. Staring at…one another. I pretend it's purely business. I insist it is. It would be…an intriguing ad.

"Now this," he says and he reaches around and I step back as he slides his phone from his back pocket. He brings it forward and we readjust a little.

"Relax," he says to me. "More curiosity, less…horror," and we laugh.

I try to stop laughing and make myself more curious looking, and I'm thinking, what would it be like with him? Life I mean? I've been on a very set course.

And he clicks several takes.

The bell tinkles meaning someone has entered the shop. I give Edward's shoulders one last smooth over, then I leave the fitting room. I am shaking my hands…because the blood…I can still feel him.


	12. Chapter 12

Suit Girl 12

"You're early," I say to Jacob as I'm shrugging into my jacket.

"I'm not…who's this?" he says looking past me.

I turn slightly. Edward has entered the store. He's put his jacket back on, and he's straightening the collar of his white shirt.

"Oh, Jacob Black," I say, "this is Edward Cullen."

Edward comes forward, stands near me to extend his hand to Jacob. Jacob is slow to reciprocate. He's looking at Edward like he's wary. "The new guy?" he says.

"Yeah. That's me," Edward says. "You're Bella's…?"

"Fiancé," Jacob says.

"Yes," I say. But I think Edward knew that. I've said Jacob's name. Surely.

"You from Chicago?" Jacob says.

"Not originally. Home is San Jose."

Jacob pulls a face, nodding, assessing. He won't look at me, keeps his eyes on Edward. "Why here?" he says.

I'm trying to stay impassive, but I don't know what's with the third degree.

"Oh. Working with Bella Swan…," Edward is beaming at me, "it doesn't get better. She was just showing me how she cut her jacket."

"Cut her jacket?" Now Jacob does look at me.

"I don't have the ledger ready," I say, ignoring the jacket thing.

"Bella," Jacob says tiredly. "Can I see you for a minute?" He takes my arm, and I go along to the back room and my office.

"What is it?" I say once we're in there.

He's holding the bridge of his nose, eyes closed. I wait.

He opens one eye and lasers it on me. "What are you doing?"

"What are you doing?"

"You really don't know?"

"I know I work with men all the time. I'm not apologizing for it."

I go angrily to my desk and root for the ledger. I may be a pen and paper girl, but Jacob isn't.

"What is he doing here?" Jacob says, both eyes on me now.

"Working!" I say with heat.

"Is he gay?" he says.

"I didn't ask," I hiss.

"You would get the one straight, gay guy."

"Whatever, Jacob. Here." I hand him the book.

"Just you two?"

"And the customers," I say like he's daft. "Do I need a keeper because…"

"Finish your sentences, Bella."

"Because he intimidates you?"

We have a little stare off. I work not to take it back. I'm not usually so eager to fight. It's not worth it.

"Intimidates me? You put this on me? You hired a pretty boy, Bella. What if I hired a secretary you didn't like?"

"You don't like him? You don't know him."

"What if it was reversed?"

Here's where I make a terrible discovery. I wouldn't care.

He is somewhat mollified as he opens the ledger. He thinks he made his point.

"You haven't tallied the receipts for the rentals?" he says.

"I told you it wasn't finished."

I go to the desk and find my scrap paper showing the total. I bring that to him, hold it out like 'Here!'

He takes the paper then he grabs my wrist. "You didn't kiss me hello."

I am still slammed over my realization.

He steps around me and lays the ledger on the desk. "Come 'ere," he says.

I step into his arms, and he holds me, and we turn in a half-circle. It's familiar, so familiar. He kisses the top of my head.

Over his arm, I see into the store. Edward's back is to me. He's talking to a customer. His hands are in his pockets raising his jacket a little and stretching his pants over his ass.

"I'm sorry I was crabby," Jacob says softly. "It…threw me. That's all. You never said you hired someone."

Edward throws back his head and laughs at something the customer says. The light on his thick hair. He really is stunning. No wonder Jacob…I guess I should have given him a heads-up.

Edward turns then, peers back through the storeroom to the open doorway of my office where I stand in Jacob's embrace…looking at him. He lifts two fingers, and I smile a little.

"I'm sorry," Jacob says. "I shouldn't have gotten angry."

"It's okay," I say softly. Edward leaves my line of vision. In a strange way…he is mine. My business, I mean. I don't want Jacob's rubber stamp.

I don't need it.


	13. Chapter 13

Suit Girl 13

And there was the time…

"I don't know why I said yes to this," Jacob says as we ride in the cab.

"It won't kill you to do something…different," I say. Edward has invited us to hear him perform at a small club. Yes, he plays guitar and sings. He's from that kind of life. Getting in front of people is second nature to him.

I think he's trying to win Jacob a little. I guess he felt the ice cubes when they'd met at the shop. And Jacob has been around more. They got to talking, and Edward ended up inviting us, through Jacob.

See I would have nixed it. Oh, I'm curious. I'm hoping it's an American Idol tryout, one of those it's hard to watch. I'm still looking for that latch…to bring me down.

But then we get there at ten and get a table in the small, crowded room, and Edward must have gone on early. He's in the middle of a song, a ballad, not that I know so much about music I can label one kind over another with complete confidence. But he's singing, and the minute I hear it, and I hear it because people are quiet while he sings, I say, "This too…Brutus?" He has betrayed me once again with his…appeal. He sings. He plays. He looks so good while he does it. I've not seen him dressed casually before, but he knows how to wear clothes—the blue shirt open at the neck. You want to get me…wear a blue shirt. I didn't know…but now I do.

I look at Jacob and in his own way, he's working as hard as I am to receive this…talent of Edward's. I believe Jacob came to show he was better…to accept that which he can't change and to do it with some level of grace, but Edward doesn't make it easy. He finishes his set to eager applause.

A group of young, college-aged women sits along the front. "Edward, Edward," I hear.

And he has groupies.

He's seen us, but he stops to chat with them, and they crowd him. They touch. He is polite. Takes it in stride, and makes his way to our back table he'd had reserved.

"Guys," he says upon reaching our table. He seems glad to see us…me.

I have to kick my mental ass to get a word out of myself and prove I'm not just another…admirer.

"That was great," I say, sounding…seventeen?

"Sorry, it's the luck of the draw around here. Someone didn't show up so…I went on early," he says. "You've been spared."

"Lucky us," Jacob says with the grace of a two-year-old.

Edward laughs with him as he laughs at Edward. "Let me get your drinks," Edward says. He steps away.

"If you're going to be an asshole, go home," I hiss at Jacob.

"What? I was just agreeing," he defends.

"I told you to stay home," I say quickly because Edward is almost back to our table. He's carrying a bottle of wine and three glasses.

"I own a vineyard…with my cousin…and this is the first batch. It's a red…."

"They sell your wine here?" Jacob asks, either more threatened or impressed enough to want to know if the owner of a vineyard needs a good CPA.

"Ah…no, they don't sell it." A cute blond goes by and nudges Edward and says, "You were great," and he beams her a smile and thanks. "They just chill it for me. BYO," he says to us.

"I like the label," I offer. What the hell…he owns a vineyard?

He tilts my glass and pours, then Jacob's, then his.

We clink glasses and sip.

Oh shit. It's bad. It's like…it's bad.

"Whoa," Jacob says. "That's terrible, man."

Edward sips and looks thoughtful. "Damn. He's got a lot to learn, doesn't he?" He takes another sip. "Damn. I'm sorry." He gathers the glasses and his bottle. "Be right back. Hey…what can I get you?"

"Just…a Coke," I say.

"Put some Jack in mine," Jacob says like Edward is our waiter. He looks at me. "What? That shit was terrible. You piss him off? He's trying to poison us."

It was pretty bad.

"Man…take a class, you know?" Jacob says. But he's almost gleeful now. Edward has failed royally enough to appease him.

So why do I just find my singing…employee progressively interesting?

He tries to return with our drinks, but he's stopped three times before he makes it to the table. "Here you go."

"What's with the chicks. I heard you sing man, it's not that…," Jacob.

"It was just oxidation, you know," I say with a big encouraging smile, same time I'm kicking Jacob under the table.

"Ow," Jacob says. He never gets the subtle clues, even if they include six inch heels.

"I think it's…I mean I just opened it at the bar," Edward says.

"Oh. Bad cork? Or…sugar…I don't know. Refermentation or something?" me.

"I texted Jasper. He's my partner."

"He'll figure it out, right?" I say.

"Dude…hope you didn't invest the farm or something," Jacob says before scarfing a hefty drink.

"He's my cousin…so…."

"Oh. Family investment. They're the worst," the harbinger of joy says.

We talk wine for a while, but my knowledge about wines is very limited.

"I get home…you should come out," Edward says to me, then, "both of you. You said you hadn't been to California. I'd love to show you my neck of the woods."

I don't look at Jacob as he is looking at me. People say this kind of thing. They don't mean it. Jacob says he has to go to the little boy's room. He slids off the tall chair and goes into the crowd.

"We have a guest house," Edward says.

"What are you doing here? In Chicago," I say.

He shrugs. "It's my second home."

We end up staring at one another. "What?" he says, and he smiles, but he doesn't look away.

"I just…you surprise me."

"What?" he says leaning closer.

"You…," I don't repeat it. A girl approaches. It's like she is looking at cake. She's inviting him…later. For drinks. He laughs. He doesn't say no. Or yes. He's had lots of practice. I see that. She settles for a picture.

"What's with it, buddy?" Jacob asks, returning and holding a fresh drink just as the little chickie leaves.

"Ah, it's that dumb show I was on. I was like…seventeen. 'Alley Street?'" Edward says.

"Television?" I ask, doing a poor job of keeping the 'shazaam,' out of my, "Damn, Edward. You're an actor?"

"Oh," he says humbly, "don't get carried away. I was the face. That's all."

"What…your body so bad they just made you a head?" Jacob asks laughing at his own joke.

"I think I heard of that show," I say, wanting to believe I have.

"It was…years ago. But they play all the old stuff now. It's on Netflix…," Edward again.

"Must have made some impression," I say cause…there are a pair of double D's headed his way as we speak.

She walks right up to him and plasters herself against his side. He smiles big and puts his arm around her, smashing the…bungas against his ribs. She lays one on him, right on the lips. I catch myself looking amazed…but wistful. Fortunately, Jacob hasn't noticed me. He's also captured by the sight…but for slightly different reasons, two of them…that's my guess.

I gulp my Coke and cough only once, willing myself to calm down.

"This is Tanya," Edward says to us, but his eyes. It's Tanya alright. It's T-an-yaaaa. They are laughing at something…private.

"Glad to meet you," I say. "Bella."

She doesn't hear me, or worse…she does. Either rate, she has eyes for one only. She is kissing him again.

And who can blame the rude bitch?

Not me. Though oddly, I would like to rip those extensions right out of her head.

And stuff them up her…nose.

Too much for an engaged woman?

I leave the table, shoulder my way to the ladies room. Once inside I squeeze to the sinks. I look in the mirror. I push the hair away from my face. Maybe I've still got it? But the bigger question—did I ever have it?

"Lady I need the sink," a pale girl says elbowing me aside as she loses her last meal in the bowl.

I move back, push my way out. I take the time to see if Tanya has left our table. She has. But so has Edward. Then I hear his voice through the sound system. He's introducing another song. The girls call out and loud applause. Then the slow hush as they listen.

His voice is deep. Soulful. Almost…too personal. He's not afraid…to give himself that way.

I could never…be as open.

We shouldn't have come. I was clearly the oldest woman…one of the oldest in the bathroom. That Tanya, she's no spring chicken. But this…this isn't me.

I make my way to the table. Jacob is draining his glass. "Let's go," I say.

He slams the glass down. "Thank God," he says.

I know it's rude to leave while Edward is performing. Isn't that why we came? Isn't it?

Then why? I'm in bed by now. I have a business to run. This isn't me.

It isn't.

One last look before we enter the small lobby. He's up there, and they are standing near the stage, arms resting there. I can't see their faces, but they are upturned…adoring him. He is singing, but he's looking straight at me. I think he is.

I do my best to smile and nod. Like a good friend. Like his sister. I'm coming back to myself now. I don't know what I was thinking…coming here. He truly doesn't need my support. Not in any way.

He puts my name in the song then. "Bella," he sings. "Don't go, Bella."

I lift my hand, wave my fingers. Jacob pulls on my arm, "Will you come on?"

Yes. I'm coming, Jacob. But either way, staying and watching Edward's fast moving train, all full, no tickets left or following Jacob's sturdy form to the cab, either way, my feet feel heavy.

But when I'm home, and Jacob is snoring away, I reach for the laptop propped against the side of my bed. Slowly I lift it and prop it before my bent knees. I carefully plug in my earphones and fire her up. Neflix. Alley Street.

And there he is. Young. The handsomeness…borderline pretty. Jacob called him that. Pretty boy. Edward called himself, 'The Face.'

I move the cursor to Episode One.


	14. Chapter 14

Suit Girl 14

And the day after…he sang:

I am at work at my usual time on Saturday. Early. I finish up the books and tidy the store. I'm moving merchandise. I had asked Edward to come in early to help me, but that was before I realized he was a celebrity.

So I'm pulling the Oxfords and dusting shelves when he arrives. I can really barely look at him, at least not easily. I've spent most of the night watching his old show, Alley Street. It really was pretty atrocious, geared toward teeny-boppers. I could well imagine the girls at his little concert were the very ones he'd tantalized through puberty. But Tanya…what was she? They kissed like…she would be the girlfriend, I supposed. He was probably a Hedonist in his personal life. That was practically an oxymoron—Hedonist and personal. Edward Cullen…had been around.

Not me. Just Jacob. I had thought that made what we had very special. Rare. I didn't need to sleep with a bunch of men to enjoy sex. Jacob was a caring lover. He always…made sure I….

And likewise, I was generous with him. When we used to have sex. A lot. Now…come on, we were both tired! We worked a lot. I was on my feet…and knees…all day. Jacob put in ten-hour days as a rule. Then overtime on top of that. We enjoyed our freedom. We respected that in one another…the work ethic and the dedication it took to really succeed.

But Saturday morning finds me close to Edward again, explaining how I want the customers to be able to put together their own outfits. "Wives like to do that. They know how they want their men to look. I'm merely guiding them."

"Ah, Bella?"

Edward says my name in an unusual way, a delicate pronunciation. I find myself wondering if he left the club with Tanya last night and if they had sex.

"Bella?"

"What Edward? For heaven sakes, I'm right here," I say, having left reality for a full ten seconds so I could ponder Edward's sex life.

"You haven't said anything about last night."

"Oh. You were…very good. Very popular. I mean…my."

"You liked the song? The last one. I used your name."

"Oh. Yeah. Sorry, we had to go. Beauty sleep." I actually snort in my attempt to laugh through my exhaustion at this unholy morning hour.

"No problem at all," he says.

"Really? I mean…thanks." Thanks? What?

He smiles big, but he's looking down like there's a joke on him…on me?

"Look…," I'm searching for the bitch, the boss, someone I might recognize as me. This awestruck, dumbstruck, fiddling, middling, stammering fangirl is hardly me. Hardly. "You left a couple of things off your resume, you know?"

"Oh. I put what was appropriate…I thought. To the job."

"Yeah, the job. Why not just meet for coffee? Pick my brains? Or what's left of them. I would have helped you." Damn straight.

"I want this," he says. "Am I…not working out?"

I do a 'pffft.' "Come on. You could run this place now. And increase sales just by…being you," I say.

He likes that answer. His face doesn't hide much. Just everything. But not the subtleties. Like—I have fans. I am rich. Women want me. All ages. Sizes. And I allow Tanya to accost me in public because…yes, fill in that blank.

"You don't remember me," he says softly.

What? "You're Edward Cullen. Right?"

"I mean…I was just starting out. We were working on a show at the Fieldhouse. You were there with your boss…your dad. I wore one of your suits. I got the zipper stuck, had to take off the pants. You helped me out. Me standing there in my underwear, you looked so cute, wearing a brown suit, your hair kept up with a couple of pencils."

"What?"

"Yeah. And you sat on a box and got the fabric out of the zipper. You calmed me down. Said, 'It's not the end of the world. I really think you could walk that runway just like that and still succeed. Whatever they are looking for…you've got it.'

"And I've followed you. Over the years, I bought a couple of suits, that old guy was working. Said you were off…you'd be off a while."

"Aro," I fill in, I don't know why. It doesn't matter. There were two times I was away like that. One changed me, changed Jacob and me I think. I don't think. About it. About us. The other…that was when Dad died. That changed me too. It made me this. What I am now.

"I planned to come back for alterations, but the job took me off. Two years in Japan, they're always hiring faces. I…had a bad break-up so I took the work and left for a while. I got my head on straight and came back. But I didn't want it anymore. I'd already invested in Jasper's dream, but I have one of my own. You want to hear?"

"I…thought I had heard. You want to open a shop…."

"A chain of shops."

"Yeah. Of course. A chain of shops…."

"But not like you think."

"No?"

"On trucks. High-end men's clothing that comes to you. Where you work."

"Like…tacos?"

"Sure. I'll bring the enchilada," he says. He's charming. I am charmed when he laughs, sparkles. I was right back then. He's got it. He's got me.


	15. Chapter 15

A/N Deep in the Heart of Me is live on Amazon today. Thought you should know. It's just standing there twiddling its thumbs waiting for you!

Also, stay tuned. You won't believe what I'm doing next! I don't believe it. Okay, read on!

Suit Girl 14

"So let's see," Andrews says looking over the notebook before her, "we haven't seen one another for two weeks."

She looks over the tops of her glasses at me.

I smile, sheepishly. "I needed more time," I say, feeling somewhat redeemed by the stack of pages I pinch to show her, I've been writing.

"Okay," she says with real enthusiasm. "Let's get to it then."

I start to read the story I've written about Edward Cullen. About a page in…it's uncomfortable sharing it. Edward this. Edward that. I know what I've written, it's not that, but…it's too personal. I was trying to get distance…objectivity. This is a naked gauntlet. Crawl. Every word is an enemy…with a paddle.

"I know what you're going to say," I accuse her. It's much more comfortable than sharing about Edward.

"What's that?" she says sweetly.

"I…have a problem. With Edward."

"Do you?"

"No."

"Then…read on. Please."

I stare at the page. "Don't want to."

"Oh. Of course. You're the boss."

I look at her. "Of what?"

"Of what you've written. Of sharing it or…not." She makes notes.

"I don't…what are you writing there?"

She pulls her pen away from the paper and looks at it as if it operates independently of her hand. "My notes," she says.

"And you're the boss of those I guess."

She smiles.

"You think I'm a control freak? You see that I mean?" me

"Do you think you're a control freak?"

"No," I say quickly.

"And why's that?" she asks.

"I…I have that…Jacob says…well, OCD."

"We all do," she says.

"Really?"

"That's my theory," she says. "The question is…can you function?"

"Do I seem like I can't?" I ask sitting straighter.

"You tell me."

"I ah…would rather you tell me stuff. You're the professional." I don't mention her fee but…yeah, it's up there.

"Not about you. You're the expert on you," she says.

"You keep putting it back on me."

"What?"

"Everything! It's like a…squeeze."

"You're feeling pressured?"

"Yes. Of course, I am."

"It takes courage to do this. Lots of people wouldn't."

"Then…why am I? This was…supposed to be about Jacob and me. Our marriage. So…why am I here, reading you a journal…about another man?" I ask, slapping the notebook against my suited legs. I'm crying a little. She probably loves this.

"That's a very pertinent question."

"That's why you gave me this assignment, isn't it? You wanted me to see the attraction? Well, believe me. I see it. Now…you do too."

"I'm not here to judge you, Bella. I'm here to help you."

"Then help me! Tell me what to do differently."

"About?"

"Please stop with the questions!"

"Stop being vague."

"Vague? I'm not…vague. I hate vague."

"Bella, I asked you to write about your father. Your mother. About Jacob. And you bring me…how many pages? About Edward. Does that inform you? Or are you just worried about how it informs me? That if I didn't hear what you've written you could walk out of here and…what?"

And what? "I…I could keep him in a notebook. In…California. I could picture him there…in the sun…or on the beach. I could see him working with his trucks…a whole fleet. Blue shirt rolled up his arms. His hands…they are very…." I'm finished with this little outburst. We sit in silence. I'm trying to breathe.

Finally, I look at her instead of the carpet. "I'm a controlling, OCD ridden, lying…bitch. I've deceived Jacob. I…I have put off our wedding for…years so I…he could handle Dad…I was so bad after...he went through so much with me. I…was angry with him. Like he made it happen. I…told myself he wanted it…to happen. And…he was the one that kept me alive…when I wanted to die. And I loved him…and I hated him. And now…I'm numb. I was. Then…I wasn't."

"Is this the great thawing then?" she asks, a half-smile.

"The great thawing?" I repeat. "I'm adapting your style," I say. I mean…I'm not even attempting to answer.

"Keep writing. You're doing tremendous work," she says.

She asks me more. Do I have a supportive circle of friends? That would be Alice. But Alice is married. She has a life outside of the shop. But I don't say that. Aunt Sue. Oh God. I can only take a three hour stretch. I don't know why. Sunday dinners. Edward helped. He broke it up. And Emmett. Pfft. So I just say, "Sure. Great…circle."

I walk to my car in another dimension of sight and sound. There was so much more. I don't know why I used the sentences I did to describe any of it. We didn't even talk about Dad. The real one, not…the other dad. Jacob. Edward said that. The dads. That topic alone….

One thing I know…I've always used one man to ward off another. I didn't tell Andrews that. Not yet. I'm going to have to sit with that for a while. I'm going to have to write it out. Maybe then I'll know the worst truth of all—just how I'm using Edward.

Call it fate, kismet, serendipity, but my phone whistles right before I start my car. I fumble through my purse and find the thing, bring it to life and check my messages. It's him. "Just wrote a big check," he says. "Thought of you." His emoticon is a smiley face being crushed by a big red checkmark.

It's his humor. He doesn't text often. Not often enough. I know he's busy setting up his new life. What he wants to do, it's expensive.

"It's only money," I text back. Smiley face.

But I want to say more. It's right there, under my thumbs, all the letters, all the possibilities. And yet, the only one who can truly protect him from me…is me.

Then it whistles again.

It's us. That picture he took—us in the mirror. "Who's wearing you?" it says. He's made a caption. Who is wearing you?

In the picture,…it's in my face. It's in…his face.

We're wearing each other. I think we are.

Oh God.


	16. Chapter 16

Suit Girl 16

"Ow," Tyler says as I realize I've stuck him with the large, black beaded pin I'm using on the shoulder seam of the jacket I'm building on his athletic frame.

"Oh my, gosh, I'm so sorry Tyler!" I say with horror. "Let me see, let me see." I pull the jacket down his arms managing to scratch the back of his hand with another pin. "Oh my God!" I yell ripping the jacket free. A red, jagged scratch graces his knuckles. As he sucks on that, I notice the growing spot of blood on the shoulder of his white shirt.

"What the…?" he says, following my eyes and also seeing the stain. "Stay away from me!"

Alice is there with the first-aid kit. I apologize, profusely, until I can't anymore. The damage is done. Tyler Dunbe, our local channel six weatherman, and a generous customer-ex-customer more likely-is effectively wounded. Why? I have six thumbs on each hand and the attention span of a two-year-old. "Tyler I haven't stuck a customer with more than a…bill…in ten years!"

"I would be the first. Do I look like a bloody pin cushion to you?" he says hotly. Always was a pompous ass, but no, he doesn't look anything like a pin cushion. Quite the contrary. He is brick hard and…really has a stellar build.

"I swear, I felt that in my bone!" Tyler says very loudly and sternly as he pulls off the white shirt to examine his wound.

Apparently, Alice nor I can help it. We look quickly at Tyler's crotch, then at one another. Alice keeps doing her Florence Nightingale, only now she fights a smile.

Me, sick as I am at having caused Tyler pain, turn away and bite my lips.

I continue to grovel. He leaves the shop really put out, but a little mollified with the twenty percent discount I offer in place of chopping off one of my hands or something.

"You got him," Alice says, wide-eyed.

"I don't know what's wrong with me," I say. "I'm really, really worried."

"You are?"

"Do I seem alright to you?" I ask, afraid of her answer.

She picks up the jacket I'd pinned for Tyler. I know this is old fashioned, me still using pins. There are computer programs that do what I am still doing. At the shows…they are impressive, those programs. I've scoffed at them, of course. Tailoring, fitting clothes is relational. At least that's the way my dad…and now me. Even Aro. It's relational. A man…tells his tailor everything. You know…things. You know what the suit is for, what it's supposed to do for that man. And now, that woman.

Technology relates without real…love. Love puts up with. We put up with one another. We can't do that with technology. We don't have to. Technology is efficient distance. Technology manipulates. It doesn't stick you. It doesn't make you bleed and even if it could, it doesn't hang around and make amends.

And that's what my relationship has become with Edward. Technology. There will be no more mistakes—to work through.

Love. Will it do away with love? Is there love? Will it stretch what is until it snaps?

"Bella!" Alice says.

"What?"

"Maybe a few days off?"

"It…it won't help," I say.

"Then…what will help?" she says, feigning casual. I know her. She is worried.

Before I can answer, the bell over the door jingles. It is Jacob holding a bag with our lunch. I'd forgotten he was bringing sandwiches. Why does my heart sink?

It just does.

11111111111

Alice opts wisely to take her veggie and cheese to the bench across the street in the small park. I long to go with her.

"What's the matter?" Jacob says.

"Nothing," I say following him into the back room.

"That new?" he says, meaning my suit. I actually need to look to remember what I am wearing. I touch my thigh. Cashmere. "One of Dad's," I say. I'd made it over, was in the process of making most of them over.

I remember when I showed them to Edward. Dad's apartment over the shop. Where I grew up. It rankled Jacob that I kept it, that as many nights as I stayed with him, at his condo, I stayed here. It's as if I slowly moved back in.

Jacob called it the mausoleum. Edward loved the architecture, loved everything about it but this. He'd asked me one day, "Could you ever leave it?"

But I had left it. I had my own place and then I had a spot to sleep in at Jacob's place. And I let go of my apartment and looked toward a future with Jacob.

But I had come back. With Dad gone, slowly, I just moved in.

Jacob accused me of that, and I said it wasn't that. I said it helped to have the flat to go to when I worked late. It was safer than me driving to the suburbs in a state of exhaustion only to fall into an empty bed because he worked late, or worse, beside him already asleep because he had to get up early for the long commute the next morning. What was the point? A bed was a bed.

Well, that was at first. The relief. And Jacob was so glad to see me come back to myself, the self he knew, he allowed it. He adapted. And having the refuge of Dad's apartment, my old home, enabled us to limp forward until limping felt normal.

I just knew I did better with Jacob when I didn't have to see him all of the time. I told myself it was for him. I was no prize. I was giving Jacob a break too. We'd been together a long, long time. We'd outlasted several marriages of friends. Matter of fact, two of the couples were remarried already.

That was how I justified it.

But Edward had questions. "Why isn't he with you here?" he'd asked.

It wasn't Jacob's fault. I was the one who had pulled away. It was up to me to move back. And I hadn't.

"I would be here too," Edward had said, and I resented him for saying it. It was too much, too personal. We had crossed over the line, and I was trying to resist confiding in him, and he was begging me for it—for more.

But I thought about it. Edward said he would be where I was. He would have followed me. And with Jacob, that would have been the undoing. I knew it. And I guess he had too. If Jacob would have followed me…we couldn't have limped to where we were now. I would have broken from him.

"I need my space," I'd told Edward, angry that he would judge Jacob. Judge our arrangement.

"When does that work for a guy?" he'd said. "Unless you're Woody Allen." Then mostly too himself, "Yeah, that really worked."

"Couples do what works for them, Edward," I'd said sternly.

"Oh," he'd said. And he'd looked at me too long. And I never took him upstairs again.

"You're not eating," Jacob says, pulling me from my thoughts.

"I'm…not hungry."

"Since when?"

I don't laugh. Or smile.

"Okay," he says pitching his sandwich onto the wrapper. "What is it?"

"Nothing. Rough morning," I say.

He waits, folds his arms. "Are you going to blow off premarital counseling again?"

"I told you…I'll pick it back up when I'm ready. I'm on a break." I can hardly face Andrews as half of a couple eager to learn what's needed for a successful marriage. Even I know commitment is basic, is the thing it's all built on. And right now? I don't have any.

"It's bullshit," he says holding a plastic fork. That snaps in two.

He waits for me to say something.

"I…I've been seeing Andrews on my own," I hear myself say. It's like the truth springs out of me.

Long pause. "Okay."

"I have a…needed it." me

Another pause. "Is it…helping…us?"

He tacks on 'us.' He only wants to hear something he can bear.

"I don't know," I say.

He is stuck. He knows he doesn't have the right to ask me what we talked about.

"I'm…not ready to share," I say.

"Bella, where is this going? You said we'd set a date, and you'd stick to it this time."

"And that's enough for you? Why can't you tell me to go to hell?" I swipe the sandwich onto the floor.

Another pause. He's taken the time to bring me my favorite sandwich. It's like I've knocked him on the floor. "Calm down," he says.

"I don't want to."

He keeps staring.

"You're a catch, Jacob. But you put up with me. I've…I've been pulling away…for so long."

"You're not easy," he says.

"But why would you put up with it?"

"I happen to love you."

"But you let me…."

"I don't let you. I don't have a choice."

"You do. That's just it. You can be done."

He stares and then he angrily gathers his lunch, into a big ball and pitches it into the trashcan. "I wish it were that easy," he says hotly, dramatically, up close to me. I try to look at him, but it is everything I never wanted to see.

"You want to keep losing, Bella. You want to take it all the way over so you can give up." He swallows loudly. "I don't play that game. You put it all on me. All the shit you feel about everything. You put it all on me to hold the line while you push and push away. If I give up…what happens to you? What will it feel like when you crash face first to the bottom?"

I don't have an answer.

"You're wearing his clothes, sleeping in his bed, living his life. He drove her away, and that's what you're trying to do to me. Except for one thing, Bella. You don't have the baby."

I gasp and look at him.

"We lost that, didn't we? You don't have the baby to hang onto for the rest of your life because you can't make it with someone who put up with all of your shit until they couldn't do it anymore. Until they were so broken down, they couldn't move on. I've had a choice, Bella? Yeah. Maybe I always did have. And maybe I couldn't stop loving you long enough to make it."

He walks out, steps hard, doors slamming.

And I hold onto the desk and try to breathe.


	17. Chapter 17

Suit Girl 17

It was a cold winter.

"Time goes so fast," Alice said.

I said.

Customers said.

"It will be Christmas."

Then it was.

"It will be Valentine's Day."

Then it was.

Innocuous statements that said nothing in the attempt to say something, to make noise and have it matter that you still could in the event you chose to really say something…real.

So we hung the lights and the greenery—Alice and I. And in February we put red roses throughout the shop. Alice did. Alice told me—celebrate love. Love.

I had nothing to prepare for. No one to prepare for. It was shocking—numbing. But I was already numb.

Aunt Sue did the holidays. Alice. Emmett asked me to meet him for a drink. So we drank. And all night I went on. The break-up. Jacob. And Emmett said it was for the best, and I told him I loved him, and he said I was the best, and I admitted it was Edward. Edward woke me up. And Emmett said I should give him a call, and I said I never could. I didn't want another man. No more men. And he said I should meet this woman—Rose. She had to be into women because he'd tried everything to get a date and I said, maybe she's just not…you know.

"Into me?" he'd said. And we'd laughed. Because we were drunk.

"Are you into Edward?" he'd asked.

"No," I scoffed, laughing into my glass. "No."

Edward had sent a total of four texts. The second showed him inside his first truck. Reminded me of the 'small houses' fad, everything was so compact and chosen for function. I already knew he was neat.

In one of the pictures I got a glimpse of Jasper—the bad winemaker-for the first time. Gosh the two of them together looked…amazing. He was Edward's rock, it seemed like Alice was mine.

Then during cold, wet and icy March, a bolt of lightning shot through our lives leaving a permanent break—a hideous scar.

Alice's husband Tim was in an accident.

They called her at work. She lived at the hospital, and I was with her as often as work allowed.

Then the funeral. Strange to say, to ground her, I had to hit earth, hit it hard, face-first, just like Jacob predicted. But I had to do it, let myself feel, so I could plant my feet and hold onto her. Try to.

But much as I was trying to be there for her, I didn't think I could face the funeral. After Dad…I didn't think I could face it. As we got ready for the viewing, panic was building. And what could I say—I can't be there Alice. I can't support you because it's all about me, again. Even when you have lost your husband, it's all about me? I couldn't do that.

So I zipped the black dress, hers, not mine. I wore a black suit.

I found the right shoes for her. I fixed her short hair, my hands shaking. And I pretended. Like with Jacob. I pretended everything on my end was peachy. She was all that mattered. I told her that, kept saying it. But inside the zombie bite was taking over. It was changing me. Inside I was liquefying.

Jacob came. It was a secondary punch, second to having to see him for the first time since our…break-apart.

He'd lost weight. Cheeks sunken. Eyes hollow. Jacket hanging loosely. Gaunt. That was the word in my head.

"How is she?" he asked me. I stood near her, near enough to catch her if she fell. The way he had for me.

I had no answer for him.

"You look thin," he said.

"You too," I said. Care for him overwhelmed me. Also…the desire to hug him, to hold on. I was frightened in this environment, I was struggling. He felt safe to me, even now. I could tell him how I was feeling, and he would take care of me, I knew that. I'd always known that. I was a hideous user.

"But you didn't have any extra weight to lose," he said. No. I had no extra anything.

He moved on, his feet did, but he still had my hands. Then I shifted so I was the one holding his. But he kept moving. And he pulled away and without meaning to, I made him work for it.

After he had spoken with Alice, I left her and followed him into the foyer. "Jacob…you did so much for me," I said. "With Dad…and before." I had to wait for some people to pass. "I…miss you. I do. But…."

"Look, Bella…I…I came here for Alice."

"I…of course."

"Look…someone is waiting for me…in the car."

We stared at one another. I had a million thoughts, not all of them kind. Why would he bring someone here? Why would he need to?

"She wanted to come in…to support me." Then he shook his head like explaining himself was futile.

"I didn't know you and Tim were that close," I said pretending I missed his bullshit jab. Like he needed support. What did she think I'd do, fall on him at a funeral for my best friend's husband?

Yeah, I'd known a moment of sentiment…but…and anyway, how had he presented me to his new…project?

"Poor you," I said, feeling heat in my face.

"It doesn't matter. I'll a…I'll see you."

He gave me a sad smile before he went out. And oddly, his 'poor Jacob' routine had me angry enough to feel some new energy.

I brought Alice a stool to collapse against. She only used it for a total of two minutes, and she was back on her feet. Finally, after three steady hours of mourners, it was over. She was exhausted, but I still felt a surge of strength from anger at Jacob. I gathered her to me, and we went back to her house. I answered the phone if it rang. I brought her some of the soup the concerned sent. But she couldn't eat.

It was snowing outside. "Tomorrow," she'd whispered as I sat on the bed rubbing her back.

"We'll do it, Alice," I said, meaning the burial.

"It's the last thing I get to do for him," she said.

"No," I said. "You have to take care of yourself now. That's what he would have wanted."

"How?" she whispered.

"We'll figure it out."

"You can't do that for me, Bella. You have a life."

"And that would be you. You're a big part of my life, Alice. You're all I care about now."

The wind beat against the window and the white swirl threatened to wall over our view of the blanketed suburban yard.

"In the morning…will you read a poem for me at the grave?" she whispered.

"Outloud?" I said stupidly, trying to keep the panic out of my voice.

"Yes," she almost laughed.

"Oh. Of…of course." It's what a friend would say. That's what I told myself.

And so I read. It was cold, a slushy snow pelting against those who couldn't fit under the tent beside the casket resting over the grave's open mouth.

The little book shook in my hands, but not because I was scared. I was cold. I looked at the yellowed page marked clearly by use to Henry Van Dyke's words.

"I am standing upon the seashore. A ship, at my side,

spreads her white sails to the moving breeze and starts

for the blue ocean. She is an object of beauty and strength.

I stand and watch her until, at length, she hangs like a speck

of white cloud just where the sea and sky come to mingle with each other.

Then, someone at my side says, "There, she is gone."

Gone where?

Gone from my sight. That is all. She is just as large in mast,

hull and spar as she was when she left my side.

And, she is just as able to bear her load of living freight to her destined port.

Her diminished size is in me - not in her.

And, just at the moment when someone says, "There, she is gone,"

there are other eyes watching her coming, and other voices

ready to take up the glad shout, "Here she comes!"

And that is dying..."

I made it through with a strong voice. I don't know why or how, just that Alice…it was for her.

"Thanks for coming," I said, forced into eye-contact with each as they passed Alice and also gave my arm a squeeze as if Van Dyke's words were my own.

And there he was.

He'd embraced Alice, and she held onto him, and his hand spread against her back. He was looking at me.

And the little book crackled in my hands as I squeezed it against my chest.

Edward.


	18. Chapter 18

Suit Girl 18

"Oh," I said, upon seeing Edward. I whispered. I want to think that. But maybe…it was more.

Edward kept Alice against him and side-stepped to me and with an arm around each of us we shaped into a desperate group hug. I just hung onto him. The power of it, my nose against the cashmere scarf. I swear I could smell California, the ocean? I didn't know. Something more than the heavy soil, the hungry earth from Tim's new home. I kept one hand tight on the book, crushed there, but the other clung to Edward.

Alice cried, and I did too. I wasn't aware until I finally pulled back. He let us go enough to pull that scarf from around his neck, and he wiped at Alice's face and gestured she should wipe her nose there, and same for me. "On the cashmere?" I said, ever conscious of the goods.

"Yeah, no way," Alice said, and we laughed.

People stayed back. Most stumbled over the mushy ground to their cars, alive and with their stomachs probably rumbling for the lunch that awaited them at Alice's house set up by Aunt Sue.

"We're…who…?" I said.

"Emmett," he said.

"Can you…?" I said.

"Yes," he said. "I'll follow you."

"We're…." I pointed. We'd planned to drive back to Alice's house with Aro, of all people. He'd come back to work since Edward's…desertion. But now, even though Aro waited by the car looking like an elegant chauffeur, I longed to ride with Edward.

"Go on," Alice said as we drifted together toward Aro.

"What? No."

"Yes," she said. "I'll be fine."

"No," I repeated. "I'm with you. I'll see him at your house."

"Bella…."

"Alice you just buried…Tim. I have to live with myself. Let me at least pretend I'm sacrificial."

"I didn't bury him. I left him on a cart," she mumbled.

"It sucks," I said back as my heels sunk into the earth.

Not yet, I thought. It doesn't get me yet. I've got some more living to do. I gave in to the urge to seach for Edward. A black car had just pulled into the small road. I looked back to the ground and continued to labor through, but I listened for the purr of that engine.

He was waiting.

Alice's home was in an older part of the city. The houses were two-storied, varied in architecture, heavy with hardwoods, remodeled and well-kept. I remembered when she and Tim got this place. He'd carried her up the six steps like a bride. But little as Alice was, Tim had torn a hamstring before they made it to the front door.

It was one of our favorite stories. Alice had all but carried Tim back to the car and the emergency room.

Finding parking would prove difficult. As we exited Aro's car, I didn't see Edward until he tapped me on the shoulder. Of course, I'd been looking in the wrong direction. "Oh. Hello," I said, greatly relieved.

"I don't want to see anybody," Alice said as we slowly climbed the stairs. "I'm going to lay down."

"Sure," I said.

Aro went in first. He looked like a gentleman, but it came and went. Edward reached around us and held the door, and we went in. Alice went to the right, and I followed her upstairs.

In her bedroom, I started to pull the shades, and she said, "No, leave them up." So I did.

I took off my suit jacket, and she laid down. "I'm glad you wore the blue one," she said, meaning the blue pin-striped she always loved.

"I'm glad I didn't bury Dad in this one," I said.

"I hate funeral humor," she said flinging her arm over her eyes.

"You look so little lying there," I said, stupidly pointing out how lonely she would look in that bed now. "Want me to lay with you?"

She pulled her arm away and made the mouth of judgment at me. "When you're done with him, send him up. I've missed him."

"Edward?"

"No. Aro."

I flopped onto the bed next to her. "I can't believe he came."

"He's a lot of pretty," she sighed. Then she looked at me, "What? It's Tim's funeral…not mine."

We probably meant to laugh, but we didn't.

"Crap I'm a widow," she said.

"I…feel his presence through the floor," I said.

"Tim's?"

Now that did make us laugh.

"He'd better not haunt me," she said, and we laughed some more.

"Oh God," she said out of nowhere. She started to cry but sniffed it back.

"Can I bring you some food? You haven't eaten anything…for days."

"I may never eat again," she said.

We threaded fingers and held hands.

I didn't sleep, but Alice eventually did. I managed to untangle my hand from hers. I got on my feet feeling half awake and looked at the clock. No way I'd been up here two hours.

In her bathroom I splashed some water on my face and ran my fingers through my hair, hitting more tangles than I wanted to deal with.

Great. I had pillow marks on my face.

What if Edward had left? What if he had an afternoon flight?

Back in the room, I tiptoed around for my shoes.

"Don't forget to send him up," Alice said without opening her eyes.

"I thought you were asleep," I said.

"You were," she said. "You snore."

"No I don't," I said kind of shocked. "I didn't even sleep."

"Yes you did," she said. "Don't argue with a widow."

I kept looking at her, but she didn't move.

"Can I get you some food?"

"Go see him before he runs off again," she said.

I took the stairs slowly. There were voices coming from the back of the house. The living room was empty, the dining room as well. Both rooms were clean, the only evidence of the lunch and the traffic was the white tablecloth still covering the shining Cherrywood table. Tim again. A treasured find at an auction of a famous newsperson. I remembered I'd bought a painting there, a Viking ship drawn in a childish way. I loved the colors.

I went through the arched doorway, and there sat Edward, like me, suit jacket off, just a white shirt, tie askew, collar open. He was tying the top of a trashbag.

"I'm so glad you're…," I said.

Aunt Sue was at the sink washing a crystal bowl. She looked from me to Edward, and that's all it took to keep me from finishing my sentence.

"You cleaned up," I said stupidly.

"With Edward's help," Aunt Sue said, nodding efficiently toward the most elegant trash-bagger in all of Chicago.

"Oh," I said like he was a darling child. "Thanks."

"You know Aunt Sue," he said, "always bragging on me."

She laughed a little, completely missing the sarcasm.

"Um…she…Alice wants to see you."

"Tell her to come down," Aunt Sue said. "She's not getting sick I hope."

Edward stood and lifted the bag. "I'll dump this and be right up," he said.

Perfect. I smiled quickly and went back to the stairs to wait for him. He was there in no time, turning down his sleeves and buttoning his cuffs.

I hurried up the stairs, and he was behind me. We got to the top, and I nodded toward Tim's office. Alice said I should bring him in after I was done with him.

Not before.


	19. Chapter 19

Suit Girl 19

"You're thin," he said looking me up and down as I leaned on Tim's desk. "Like you're doing 'go-sees.'"

"Ghosties?"

"Go-sees. Looking for jobs. Modeling."

"I'm putting it back on. You look good. Like…."

"Fat?" he laughed. "I've put on ten. Now that I can eat meat."

"Not fat," I said. Understatement. He looked amazing.

"I've needed Alice, man," he said. "Everything had to be let out. Clothes, Bella. No one tailors like her…except…."

"Looks good on you," I said again, meaning the weight. I said it like a creep.

"You think so?" he grinned at me. He was too used to praise. Worship. He took it in stride.

"Still obnoxiously confident."

He threw back his head and laughed then caught it. "Oh shit. Can Alice hear me?"

"It's alright. She's not immune to people laughing."

"How is she? I read the details on-line. Tim…what a way to go."

"The lingering in the hospital…it's not like she really got to say good-bye. Or maybe she did. Maybe that's what the lingering was about."

"This world."

We stared at the floor. More aptly one another's shoes.

"How's it going? The trucks I mean."

"Great. I'm broke! Each truck costs around twenty grand. I'm not talking inventory."

"Of course you're not," I said. "But consider what real estate would cost to do a complete overhaul on one building."

"There's an association fee. It's not cheap. And permitting issues. They are a never ending pain in the ass."

"Don't bitch about permits. You're…happy," I said. "You like it. You love it."

"Love…?"

"Your little shops on wheels," I said. And maybe I was jealous. Happy for him. And jealous he'd found happiness without me.

"Oh…I missed those damn looks," he said.

"Have you? Missed me? Of course, you have. Someone to do all the dirty work. What's it like on your own Cullen?"

He tucked his chin and smiled a little, one eyebrow raised. "I've stayed busy."

I licked my dry lips. "Guess so. You bit off…a big bite."

"Yeah?"

Maybe I blushed. I felt at a loss.

"Emmett told me. About you and Jacob," he said. His tone changed. His…eyes changed.

"Yeah. Emmett. He's got like…." A really big mouth.

"I asked. I always ask. You don't…you don't write." He laughed but it just…went away.

"You could ask me," I said, not meaning to say something so dumb. "I…I didn't know I should tell you. I didn't think about it." Not every minute of every day. I had to sleep.

He nodded. If he was trying to show me he was hurt, I got it. But should he be hurt? I didn't think so.

"We haven't had…anything. I thought we were friends," he said.

"Aren't we? I feel like we are. We're not enemies," I said.

"Worse. We're just…like this," he said.

"True friends can pick it up. Even after a long time. I feel that way. That's what I'm trying to say," I said. Talking too much. Too many stupid words.

"I reached out…four times. You gave me the least perfunctory replies."

I couldn't believe he was beating this horse. And the horse was twitching. It was…not dead.

"So I'm supposed to use you now…to cry on your shoulder? You haven't been here. You're the one…who went to pan gold. Cal-i-forn-i-a. Good for you…."

"It's home," he said. "I…I thought it was."

"It's what? It's not home?"

"Yeah. But…I stayed busy. I'm busy now. Go, go, go. But…I've moved around so much." He shook his head.

"But you like that," I said like he forgot something key to the survival of mankind. Or me.

"I liked it here. With you." Then he added, "At the shop," very quickly. "And…everywhere else."

"Even Aunt Sue's?" I said to cool it off, to find a branch in the river to grab onto….

"I liked all of it," he said.

"Then…why did you go?"

"You know I had to."

Forget the branch. The current had me. I was moving like a rocket.

"Mafia?" I said. Well, I tried. He didn't smile or laugh. Just those new eyes that were hard to look into and impossible to break from.

"Always a joke. Always…maybe this isn't the right time. Maybe you've had enough." He said that, but he didn't look away.

"I'm nailed here."

"I liked that," he said. "You're a constant. You get that about yourself, right?"

"A consonant?"

"You heard me. People like you…and there's not another just like you so you know…but people that hold places…."

"What?" I said, half afraid I would find the rest of his thought insulting, but also, half desperate for him to finish all of his sentences, finish them then write them down so I could read, reread, and look for every drop of meaning.

"You hold a place," he said, slightly exasperated or intense or…both.

My mind, as a rule, worked very fast. I'd already heard him saying, "You hold a place in my heart."

"You're like an anchor."

"Heavy," I said before I thought it through.

"No. Not heavy. Steady. Without you…maybe…maybe the rest of us would float away, you know? You hold things. You build."

"Oh yeah. I'm a builder. I've heard that stuff before. Farmer, builder, explorer."

He shook his head. Yes, he was exasperated now. "Not that. I don't know that. I know you. You show the possibilities. You're the real thing. The rest of us…you have to…at some point…you have to speak out of what you learned…flitting around. If you don't…it's just you. It's just about you. You don't have anything for anybody. Not even yourself. But experiences…and they're over. They're gone. And what's left…can look empty. And worse than that…it can feel empty. Like…nothing."

"So you're building. You own a fleet."

"Not really. And I still have wheels."

"Makes sense."

"See. Even the way you talk. You're just solid."

"Solid? I've got you fooled."

I didn't know what I saw as he shook his head. His eyes had power. Looking at me like he was now…it was embarrassing. I thought that's what it was.

"You fool yourself, Bella. I'll give you that. But never me."

"I don't know if I like that. Fool myself? And you have me all figured out? We were friends but…let's face it. I was engaged, and I'd like to think I didn't…like I held the right line with you. I don't remember…we had fun. And worked hard." I had no idea where I was going.

He stepped closer. He touched my arm. Warm hand.

"You ah…you live really far away. I'll be your friend. I mean…I am. I'll be more chatty…when you text." I had to cough a little. I turned my head at least.

"Something to look forward to," he said. Now he was not looking at me, but he kept touching my arm, watched his finger stroking up and down. And somehow, that was worse. I mean…not worse. Just….

Worse. Because he lived in California. And I'd already had my heart broken for the year. And Alice…Alice needed me. Intact. And I was just getting…intact. So I moved away.

Because he'd had a million women. And he was wrong.

He was the builder. I maintained. That's all. I didn't take chances. I was steady. So steady I couldn't move. That's what kept me with Jacob.

Nothing was casual with me. I couldn't do casual. I couldn't be a name on a list. I couldn't be his older, sensible pit-stop in Chicago when he needed to tug on the anchor.

He thought he knew me.

I hadn't let him.

"So when's your flight out of here?" I said. I was trying to make my point. He was leaving.

He put his hands in his pockets. Big sigh, back on his heels, feet tapping to earth. "Tomorrow morning."

"Okay. Alice wants to see you." I gave my best smile.

He stared. Message received. I didn't flinch. He sighed again, gestured with a sweeping hand. I led the way to Alice's room.


	20. Chapter 20

Suit Girl 20

"When I'm better. When I can…get to stage four…what's stage four?" Alice said as we laid side-by-side on her bed after Edward left.

"Um," I checked the book in my hand, given by my ever-well-meaning-yet-annoying Aunt Sue. "Depression," I said, as much from experiencing the dark tunnel as from reading about it. Maybe I'd hoped it wasn't in there, that Alice would be spared. But no. No mistake.

"When I finish being depressed, I'm taking a trip," she said.

"That's…that's great," I said, ignoring her resignation to having to wear the brick hat. I was just elated she was looking past grief and talking about a future.

"Nothing is great," she said.

"I mean…you'll be accepting…I mean…after depression…there's acceptance," I looked at Kubler-Ross's bio and wondered if I'd just said the wrong thing. I thought of myself. Had I accepted?

"I'll never accept it. I'll never, ever accept it," Alice whispered.

"I know," I said, my hand on her arm.

She sniffed. "Anyway…we're going to California."

"We?" Edward must have invited…her. "You don't fly," I said.

"You think a thing like flying will stop me after this? I'm facing my worse fear…right now. Losing Tim…." A fresh round of crying took hold. I grabbed a couple of Kleenexes from the box on the nightstand and handed them to my friend.

As soon as she could talk and breathe again, Alice explained that Edward had invited her to California as soon as she felt up to it. I hadn't witnessed the invitation as I'd allowed him to speak to her alone.

He had also driven Aunt Sue home. I tried to hold back my tremendous disappointment that he was leaving, and I had no assurance I would ever see him again, just a gut…hope that surely I would.

But he was cool as could be when he told me he'd see me around, and with Aunt Sue's hawkish eyes on me, I played it just as cool. "Yeah, see you," I'd said. He'd given me a quick hug that was so powerful and then so quickly over I'd felt dizzy.

That's why, not even an hour later after Alice had insisted I go home, I wasn't all that shocked…just mostly shocked to see Edward standing at my backdoor, the one on the upstairs balcony to my apartment.

"You um…. Come in," I said, moving my bare feet out of the way, and the rest of me now that I think about it, so he could enter.

Eyes. And tall. And smelled so good. And hair. And big in the room. Just…everything…everywhere.

I still wore my suit pants, white shirt pulled out, unbuttoned, undershirt beneath, also untucked. Hair…well streaming, and that doesn't mean it looked good, but…it usually did. I was lucky that way, but I gripped it now, my hair, and tried to smooth it somehow.

"I didn't think…." I started.

"Just listen," he said.

I folded my arms not to resist him, but to hold myself.

"I said…don't push her. You'll keep her as a friend," he said.

"Me?"

He ignored me, "And then I said, I don't want her as a friend."

"Me?"

His hands gripped my arms. "If you're my friend…I'll lose you anyway. It won't be enough. You'll find someone else. You'll let me go. You already did."

"Okay…what?"

"You know how I feel. You know. Look at me."

He held me tight, staring. His eyes…I remembered to breathe, gasped. Hot tears. I wasn't a crier. But it had been a rough week.

"There's been no one since I went home. Since I worked for you. Jasper tells me…."

I shrugged, wiped my eyes on the white shoulder. I didn't know what to say. A quick flash of that girl at the club, the night he'd played. Tanya. And his groupies. And women in the shop. He was…his life was too big.

"I'm…I'm thinking of you. Back of my mind…as long as I keep working. Then…you're there. Front of my mind. Always there," he said.

"We haven't even been talking," I said, pretending I didn't know exactly what he meant.

"I couldn't push you. I was waiting."

"For me? I…you never said…or promised…."

"You didn't want…. This feels strange," he said. "This dancing around."

He looked tired now. He looked stressed. He looked anywhere but at me.

"Edward. It's weird timing. I always have to pull away to think."

"You haven't been? I mean it's been months, Bella."

It was a heavy thing to say. All of this felt so weighty. Not two people realizing there's more. An exciting new beginning.

"Wow," I whispered. "I'm scared, Edward."

"Of me?" he said.

"I don't know. Just scared."

"How can I make it better," he whispered pulling me close to him. "What can I do?"

I didn't know. But holding me like that…was helping. And rubbing my back? Really making it better.

"I have weird…ways," I said, my head slowly resting against his chest.

He laughed some. It was a little sad, but better than the…dancing. "I know you're weird," he said.

I closed my eyes. Sometimes, I had trouble staying in the moment and not flying out of it into a million thoughts. But he was keeping me here. "I mean…it's innate. I would drive you crazy. I need lots of…space," I said.

"How is that a problem seeing as you're stuck in the middle of the country, and I'm on the west coast?" His voice had gentled. So gentle.

"But…I'm also possessive. I'll want you nearby…so I can ignore you."

"Hmm. I don't do clingy either. It's also been…a problem in my love life."

"I will be clingy, though. My emotional health will depend on you. So inside…I'll cling. But I'll be an aloof bitch who will also resent you. I'll resent your…power over me. I'll possibly…resent how much I'll love you. Are you ready for that?" I said.

There was a moment of silence. "Is anybody?" he said. "Plus I don't believe it."

"But I believe it. So that's way worse," I said.

He pulled back, and I looked at him. "These are your reasons, Bella? This is why you've rejected me?" he said.

"I haven't," I whispered. "I haven't rejected you, Edward. Not for a minute."

We stared. Up close like that.

"What are you thinking?" he said, smiling a little.

I swallowed loudly. "Well…your face. People have…rented it for photographs and videos and television shows. It's…that good."

He laughed. Blushed even. "Afraid you're finally drinking the Kool-Aid?"

"Maybe. A little. It's like your face has escaped the effects of faulty genetics and getting squeezed the wrong way in the womb. It's escaped…sin, even. At least…I want to think that. But so does everyone. You've gotten by with murder, haven't you? No one would believe it. No one would want to prosecute you."

"There's a couple that might love to prosecute me," he said like I was adorable.

"And…I've missed…you. I'm…a thinker. It takes me time," I said.

But I couldn't say all I really thought. Felt.

My hand was over his heart. He closed his eyes, took me by the wrist. He kissed my palm. "I have never worked so hard for a woman. Nor wanted one so badly," he said. Eyes open now. "Bella…I want you."

"How could it work?"

"Shh," he said lowering his lips to my forehead, each cheek. Then my mouth.

Inside I was trying to scream at myself. I think I was saying, "Stop. Get him out the door. You're going too far."

But my arms…I stood on my tiptoes as my arms wrapped around his neck, as he bent to me and pulled in a deep breath as the kiss deepened, as my mouth opened and I whimpered, and my body went soft against his.


	21. Chapter 21

Suit Girl 21

"No. You'll stay here, of course," I told Edward. His flight left early in the morning.

"I'm a night owl," he said.

"Like I don't know?" I reminded him. He was never late for work, but he always pushed the clock.

"I mean I won't sleep until I'm on the plane," he said. "Not that I mean to keep you up. You look beat."

Yeah, funerals will do that, I wanted to say. "Disappointed?" I said instead. Was he disappointed with the way I looked?

We were both sitting on the window seat in the kitchen. We were close, but when I asked him, he took my hand and pulled me into the vee his open legs made. My back was to him, but he took me by the chin and turned my head enough that he could kiss me. I wasn't used to him, to this, not like this, but I turned my body as he slid enough that I pretty much ended up on top of him. The kiss that had barely been broken started again, light this time, until his hand on the back of my head and the lift of his mouth, made it sinfully deep.

I no longer knew I was still in my kitchen. Truly. He artfully moved us lengthwise on the bench. It was narrow, but he kept a foot on the floor to anchor us. I laughed, briefly as we readjusted, but he guided me down the center of his body as he ravished my mouth. "I have a bed," I whispered somewhere in there. We didn't make it.

xxxxx

I ended up being the nervous flier. Alice and I were stuck on the tarmac for thirty minutes before we could deplane. Alice was the one to comfort me. But my nervousness wasn't about being trapped in the plane.

I had one reason for the jitters. Edward Cullen. I needed to figure it out again—what it was like to be with him. To be next to him.

To hear his voice…in person.

To feel my hands in his.

To be held by him and know, and revel in the joy of being open.

To lean into him and breathe.

We'd had one night before he left my apartment and went home to California. He'd offered to stay another, but I insisted he make his flight. I needed the space. Just a little to catch up. Alice…then Edward. Emotionally I was flooded.

"You have to go," I'd said to him, repeating all the reasons he'd given earlier for why he couldn't stay. "You have to go."

He was right. He didn't sleep. We'd talked and kissed most of the night away, but we were silent too, and I fell asleep, I even dreamed, and I woke up groggy and heavy, warm lips and his soft voice, he was dressed. He was leaving.

xxxxxx

Over the months apart I hadn't Skyped. I had texted him everyday, many times a day and sent pictures. Not the kind I could ever regret, but the kind that showed me going about. I went for sexy once or twice. Just that. And he gave it back, his face, man he could work it. He knew how. I looked at the mug shot he took just for me, his eyes, just for me. I looked at it all the time. And a couple times a week he'd send me the one taken back in the day at the shop, the two of us in the mirror, the evidence of our…compatibility. I could admit it now. I was lusting for him. And it was mutual. It was evident. Right there. No wonder Jacob behaved badly. I'd given him no choice. I had lied to myself and to everyone else.

So in our absence from one another, we'd joked. A lot. We talked until late at night. A couple of times I watched the sun come up, my cell plastered against my ear. He was messing with my schedule, early to bed, early to rise. He was messing with everything. My heart. My soul. He said the next time we were together was up to me. I gently nudged Alice, I wouldn't go without her. Matter of fact I let her think the whole thing was her idea.

We made a solid plan, set a solid date. He knew how to draw me out, make me take a chance, force me out of the cocoon of Chicago.

We were like high school kids. I felt that way-ridiculous and fabulous. This budding romance got me through the long, sad winter with Alice.

I had talked her out of selling her house to buy a loft, then a condo. She had overshopped and overspent before she came to her senses. My back, fingers, neck and shoulders were still sore from the extra amount of tailoring I had completed during prom season and wedding season. And that was with the extra help I'd hired to carry a business that after many years was pulling so doggedly on the leash toward expansion that I was weary of trying to contain it and meet its demands.

It was the women clientele that was pushing me to the next level. While women's clothing, in general, was seeing a surge in the market, suits were more in vogue all the time. So rather than being unique in wearing the mostly male attire I had become a commonality. Granted, the crux of my wardrobe was inherited from Dad and carried not only family history but the history of the business, but still, I was no longer unique.

As far as expanding the shop, I had argued it out with Alice. She fed my own fears. She wanted me to keep the business as it was so I knew her reasoning-we would lose the very flavor of Swan's Clothiers if we grew.

And just as we reached consensus, her advice swung like a ten ton pendulum. I shouldn't let fear rule me, she said. Time was short. God forbid I should one day know regret for not seeing how far I could go.

I knew grief was a process, but selfishly, I wanted the old Alice back. I missed her even as I understood she'd been shaken to the core and was currently being rearranged into her future self.

And then there was the dour Aro. He wanted me to sell out to someone who could handle the volume. Even Emmett weighed in. He thought I should franchise. And while Jacob no longer handled my books, his firm did, and that guy was after me as well to get off my knees and open multiple locations under the Swan name with me holding the reins as the CEO.

The American idea of business, of course, was to build an empire.

But I had no desire to do so.

I liked what I had. I had taken responsibility for it right out of college. My family history, my devotion to my father, was there. My life…and loss with Jacob. My discovery…of Edward…was there.

And it worked. And it was no small thing to build a life, and I had done that.

And Chicago…was a part of me. My home. I loved and hated everything about it. The snow. The beach. The crime. The stores. The feel of it, hum and drum, song and beat. I loved and hated every last note.

But now as we finally disembarked into the bright light of San Jose, my memories of Edward the first and last time we'd been together nearly blinded me. If Tim hadn't of died…. It was terrible to think of Tim's ending as our beginning, and of course, it wasn't, but it had brought us together.

"This is the first time you aren't looking at me with that question in your eyes," Edward had said during our one night.

"What question?" I'd asked.

"Like asking me to break through," he'd said.

"I…don't know what you mean."

"Trust me. It was always in your eyes, you wanted something from me."

"And it's gone now?" I said.

"First time," he said.

My white sheets wrapped around us, over his hip, through my legs, under my waist, over his shoulder, as we lay just as entwined on my bed. "What do you see there now?" I said.

He pulled in his chin to study me. "I don't know. It's new."

"Will Alice see it? She can't see it. Will she look at me and know? What kind of friend am I…falling for you when she's lost…."

"Hey. Hey. It's alright. This isn't against Alice. And she won't know. It's my look. It's for me," he said holding my chin.

I wiped a hand over my face just to be sure there was nothing in this strange new look that lingered. But then I'd have to poke out my eyes. He'd said it was there.

"Maybe it's happiness," he said. Overly confident as usual.

"You've seen me happy," I said.

"I've seen you determined, busy, laughing, serious. This look, though, it's new," he said.

We held onto one another. Yes. That was it. This was how happy felt.

So deboarding the plane, I was familiar with this feeling…I was happy.

"When we die," Alice said as we walked the terminal at San Jose International, "it will be like this." She stopped and looked out one of the terminal's big windows. So…bright.

I was trying to breathe, to look around without being desperate. I saw him at once. "Bella," he called out.

"There's Edward," I said in a very sedate voice. But inside…I screamed it.

"Edward!" That was Alice. She didn't hold back. She went tearing forward and leaped into his arms. He laughed, holding her, and over her head looked at me, big beautiful grin on his face. I walked slowly toward them, holding my carry-on before me like Mary Poppins might have held her magical case. Yeah, sexy.

Of course, he lived in all of this light. He wore a summer weight suit. Blue linen. It was risky, but on him, no risk. Just right. Wrinkled in just the right way. On him—still elegant. He was California.

His hair was lighter. His eyes were darker. His skin showed sun. His teeth even whiter. He was clean shaven.

"I had a meeting," he was saying to Alice, looking at me. She'd asked about the suit, pulled at the jacket to check the partial lining.

"You're so cute," she said.

I laughed. Cute didn't cut it. I reached him and the three of us, we held on for a minute, then Alice peeled herself off, and he readjusted. He and I and he was the airport, all of it, nothing else, just him, me. Just us. And I was flying.

"Finally," he said.

It was the best word.

"Still driving the Volvo?" Alice asked.

He was.

"I love this car," she said a few minutes later. Somehow we had reached the car. I only knew I was with him.

It was his hundred thousand dollar Volvo. It sat four only. And that was more than enough for the three of us. But…there were four of us, it seemed. I knew him from the pictures, of course. Jasper Whitlock. Sounded like a gunslinger, but he was out of the car, pacing while he talked on his cell. He wore a summer weight wool suit. Gray. A nice breathable fabric for this bright San Jose heat. But the thing was…the pants were short and cuffed.

"No way," Alice said, her eyes glued on Whitlock. Alice hated rolled cuffs. It was wrong. Wrong. The style had originated in England for real reasons, back in the day, puddles and such. It had no place anywhere else, and not for the last hundred years. But Whitlock's pants were high-water, cuffed at the hem, and funkier still he didn't wear socks.

He had long, kind of curly blond hair, a little wild, but just enough to be attractive. He was pacing, talking on his cell. He saw us, smiled. I watched his eyes go to Alice, take her in, up and down. Then he said he'd call whoever it was on the other end. He clicked off. "How you do?" he said to Alice. He had a southern accent.

She ran her hand over his lapel. "Like the notch, the tonal stitching," she said. She looked down. "Even the twelve hundred dollar wingtips can't apologize for those cuffs."

"Well…I'm glad you're here darlin'," he said. He had the warmest smile, eyes.

"Oh, you're Bella," he said to me as Edward slammed the trunk where he'd stowed our luggage.

"Guilty," I said. "You're Jasper."

"My mother's fault. All the first males are named, Jasper Warren or the reverse. I narrowly missed…the reverse."

"Jazzy, Jasspie…it's versatile," Alice said, taking the liberty of checking the lining of Jasper's jacket as she had with Edward's. "Full-lining?" she muttered.

Jasper laughed. He held his arms like wings to keep them out of her way. "Shy little thing, aren't you?"

"I take it those trousers are fully lined too?" she laughed.

He wagged a finger before opening the Volvo's door for her.

Edward opened my door, and I got in. Thing about his car, the white leather seats were separated by a console. That was fine. The inside was cozy. I was still in a kind of shock to be so close to him.

He hadn't kissed me yet. He smiled at me, fumbled a little to get the key in the ignition. He started the car and backed out of the space, smiling at me several times. From the backseat, Alice and Jasper hadn't taken a breath.

"A grosgrain waist on a twenty-five hundred dollar suit? Give me a break," Alice said.

"She's going for the pants," Edward mumbled in a sing-song, and we all laughed. He took my hand then. I had asked him to hold off. We'd had a long talk. I didn't want to flaunt our newly discovered love in front of Alice.

She had been through so much and was working hard to heal. But when she was in a certain mood and saw a couple's pda, it could be more bitter than sweet, and I didn't want anything to make her sad. But as I looked in the backseat and took note of her examining the hem in one of Jasper's cuffs, I did put my hand on Edward's arm, briefly. I squeezed a little to let him know…I was happy to be here.

He lifted my hand and kissed my knuckles. I laughed and pulled my hand away, but he grabbed it again.

I turned to look at Alice, but she was redoing the handkerchief in Jasper Whitlock's breast pocket, and he seemed very interested in her…technique. When I settled back, Edward lifted my hand again, slower this time, kiss pressed against my wrist, mouth warm, his eyes on me.

He wasn't going to hide.

I leaned over the console, and we kissed. It shattered me, that one kiss. I was a fool to think we could take it slow. "Welcome to California, Bella Swan," he said low.

We kissed again. Light and friendly. I settled against the door and pressed my knees tightly together. I gripped his hand with both of mine to keep myself from flying right out of the sunroof.


	22. Chapter 22

Suit Girl 22

The road to Edward's vineyard was stunning. "Are we in Italy?" Alice said as we took in the vista that was wine country in San Jose.

Jasper found this funny. "It fills it's own shoes," Jasper said.

"It what?" Alice asked him, a grin in her voice.

"Stands on it's own. Maybe Italy is a knock off of this, ever look at it that way? Maybe people drive through Italy and say, "Is this San Jose?"

"You're weird," Alice said. "Filling it's own shoes sounds like somebody's peeing."

"Edward it's beautiful," I said, trying to ignore the conversation from the backseat. The dull green hills lined with straight rows of grapes against the whispery blue and gray colors of the sky was truly stunning.

"Our land is further up," Edward explained.

"Yours and Jasper's?" I said, just to clarify.

"Yeah," he smiled. "And my mother's. She's a silent partner."

"How silent?" Alice said, proving yet again that her filter had evaporated since Tim's passing.

Both men found that funny. I'd see how much they were laughing by the end of the week.

"When Aunt Esme sleeps you can hear an ant fart," Jasper said in that drawl.

"Oh, I thought you said 'ant farm.'" Alice laughed. Loudly.

"Okay Colonel Sanders," Edward said looking into the rearview. "She's not that bad."

"Auntie Em? She's great," Jasper filled in. I knew Alice picked up on Jasper's sarcasm. Did Edward require that? Loyalty to Mother no matter how you really felt?

She was in business with them. After Charlie, the way it was when he was alive, a parent as a silent partner? Was it possible? I had so many questions.

"Was the vineyard originally your mother's?" Alice asked, again voicing what I wanted to.

"The land," Jasper said.

Edward glanced in the mirror again. "It's my land," he said.

"Technically," Jasper said much lower.

Edward glanced in the mirror once more, his mouth settled into a line as he kept hold of my hand and shifted the car and we lurched forward with dizzying speed.

"Good thing I have an empty stomach," Alice said. "Look quick."

Jasper said something about Edward slowing down, and he did a bit, smiling at me as he downshifted. "Sorry. Too eager."

Okay.

"I put you both in the guest house," Edward said.

"You have a guest house?" Alice.

"Formerly my house," Jasper said.

"So you moved out for us? Or you have another house?" she pushed.

"Another. I've been booted off the ranch. I live in the city. But…there's a caretaker's house on the property. Formerly Aunt Esme's. I'm staying there."

"So where did Aunt Esme go to?" Alice said.

"She's staying with the chauffeur," Jasper said.

"She's staying with me," Edward explained to me.

Oh. Very nice. I am staying with Alice. He is staying with Mother. I could feel Alice kick my seat.

We didn't say anything the last couple of miles. But once we hit Edward's place Alice started to rattle again, with Jasper answering her many questions as quickly as she blurted them. They were silly together. He had somehow tapped into this light-hearted side of her. It wasn't exactly the real Alice yet. She'd been more of a quiet person as a rule. But I'd take this somewhat hyper loon over the sad and desperate person she'd been over the winter.

"Holy sh…arecroppers," Alice said as we entered under an iron arch with the word, Bellissima spelled out along the top.

"Wow," I whispered, not missing the coincidence of a close facsimile of my name donning the place.

"Bellissima," Alice read outloud as she had turned to look out the rear window. "Beautiful?"

"Yes," Edward said, squeezing my hand.

Jasper made a smirking sound. Almost a laugh, but muffled.

"Like Bella?" Alice said with the freedom of a blurting senile grandmother.

"Yeah," Edward said. "It's new."

"The name?" I said, like the grandmother's bff.

He kissed my hand again. WTF?

"Beats a dozen roses," Jasper sang.

Alice giggled.

"What?" I said. Had he named the freaking vineyard after me? But what about Mother? And…why would he do that? What if…things didn't work out?

"Stop panicking," Alice said from the backseat, practically in my ear. "You think I didn't know?"

I turned quickly. Granma was egging for a slap. "You knew about this?" I tried to keep my voice light.

She smirked. "No," she said too loudly for being so close. "About you and Edward."

"What?" I said again. I was embarrassed. When I talked to her about him, I meant to do it at the right time. Right place. Not like this. It was all too much.

She flopped back. She and Jasper were grinning like a pair of Cheshire cats. How dare they grin. At me.

"Roll with it sista," Alice added.

And then the three of them laughed, and we pulled up to…the villa.

The arched front door opened, and a beautiful woman emerged. She was perfect, right down to the creamy white sweater she wore like a cape, sleeves tied under her firm chin.

"That's Auntie," Jasper sang.

"Ignore him," Edward said, a last kiss on my paw. "You okay?"

"Yeah. Yes. Just…." Holy shit.


	23. Chapter 23

A/N: I have another book on Kindlescout. Running With Monkeys. Many of you read it as Hard Hearted on FF. Anyway, if you Google the Kindlescout site and type Diane Munier in the search box you can nominate my book which ups its chances of getting a publishing contract from Amazon. Many thanks.

Suit Girl 23

We are standing looking out at the vista that is this place of Edward's, this place named for me and I see it, I do, beauty and order, but the feelings are still there, the sting of…his mother.

His jacket is off, shirt pulled free, unbuttoned, sleeves rolled, wind wiping it around his narrow waist some. His hands, long and elegant, one is at his temple, the other gesturing with the sway of the tree's overhead branches. "She's just not…a warm person, Bella. I can't change that. It's who she is."

"Okay," I say helplessly. And I don't like helpless. I don't do helpless. "But…hate? Does she hate me, Edward?"

The hands lay over his face now, like the gates closed on everything around him, including me, of course. "No. God, no, Bella." He pulls the hands away. There is amusement, but it's pained. "You can't take her that way."

"Hate," I repeat more softly, the sifting of the overhead leaves nearly drowning me out, I think.

"No," he says, now at last, his hands on my arms. "No, babe. You can't let her get at you like that."

"I'm not here to…I mean…she's the mother! And she hates me. You never should have named this place, her land or something…for me? For me!"

His face hardens some and he's working his chin a little, like east and west. "I wanted to…I do what I want. It's mine. I thought you…."

I wait. I hear something he doesn't say aloud. He says, 'You're mine.' It's in his eyes.

"Edward…I'm moving into the city. A hotel."

"No…no."

"I can't…I don't put myself in weird…situations. I don't…grovel when someone is…I don't do it in business or my personal life. I sure as hell don't. I…I'm thirty-one, Edward. I never had to put up with my own mother. Not for long."

"That's fine. I love that about you. Be that tough girl from Chicago. The one who can handle the biggest asshole who comes in the shop. I've seen you do it."

"Okay, your mother is another category, right?"

"She's not the big deal, Bella. You are. You're my big deal."

"That's very…great and all, Edward…but…."

"What about…everything here I want to show you? Bella I've waited…I've imagined you here. You can't…. Look. Esme will be gone in a couple of days. You won't even have to see her. I waited months, Bella. Don't…don't let her ruin it. I won't. I don't put up with…I'll handle it."

I pull away from him, arms folded, jaw locked as I survey the rows, the beautiful rows that make up Bellisimo. I don't think Edward talking to her will fix things. I should confront her myself. But it's awkward. It's his mother. I try to breathe. I tell myself to take it easy.

"She's just…we haven't been close in a long time. She isn't herself."

"She's so passive aggressive," I blurt. Well, so much for taking it easy.

"I'm sorry she presented herself that way."

"At least Jasper tried to warn me in the car."

"No…."

"Oh yes. And you disagreed with him."

"Bella…it won't happen again."

How could he say that? If this was the beginning of a real relationship, he couldn't make a promise like that without taking drastic steps to ensure it wouldn't happen again. And it was too soon for that…and maybe too late!

"Does she know I'm not after anything she thinks is hers?" As soon as I say it I know it isn't so. Edward. She thinks he is hers.

"Yes. She knows that."

"Either way she had no right…."

"She knows who you are."

"She has no idea who I am or she wouldn't have attacked me like she did."

"Honey…attacked?"

"You doubt me?"

"No. What did she say exactly?"

"She led me into the pantry…and like a fool I went…it was part of the freaking icy tour, and while I'm staring at a can of spaghetti sauce she comes up behind me and says she guesses I'm more than some flavor of the month. And did I happen to notice you'd named the place for me? Then something like, her father was rolling in his grave!"

"What?"

"What did you think happened when I stormed out of the pantry?"

"Okay. Calm down a minute, babe. Let's just talk. I know you're upset, and you should be. You should be. But let's not turn on each other."

"Why am I here?" I was losing sight of the goal.

He doesn't answer. Gets close. Takes hold of me. Holds me hard. "For me," he says. "No one else. Not even Alice. Just me."

He's using the face. The eyes hurt. I can't hold his gaze but he won't let me look away, he ducks his head and pulls me back. "For me," he says again, lifting me enough that I'm on my toes. "Kiss," he says, before his lips press warmly, hotly against mine. He's using all of his vast skill, used on many fangirls and whore-girls, ho-girls, flavors of the…. Oh God he can kiss.

"Edward," I say so breathlessly I think the wind has carried it away and added it to the thunder that crashes somewhere over this valley. We are tumbling. We are on the ground. He takes the crux of it, I'm halfway on top. More kissing, but I am the aggressor this time. I am the one spread over him. It's fast, this pounding, I've held it back, for so long. I've held it back, all my life, I don't think I've been alive. Not completely. Not since….

"Bella," he says, and breathing. A drop of rain against my neck where he has gripped my hair and wrapped his hand in it so completely.

I am on my side. I am pulling at him as he brutally pulls at my dress, rips at his pants. "We'll do it here," he says. "I want you here, Bella."

Then his lips are on mine once more, and as the rain begins to weep over us, he is against me and my legs move out of the way so I'm open to him, I'm open to him and my body is the one to dictate now. It's waited long enough. Edward is saying my name and I open my eyes and he is looking at me, his hand on my cheek now. "I love you," he says, the sweetest lift of one corner of his lips. He lowers his face, his nose touches mine. I lift to kiss him again, and he rubs his finger over my lips. A lusty grin, and his eyes reflecting…love.

I slowly lower my head to the ground and he's there. He's inside me at last and I adjust to take him against me. "Nothing…," I pant. Because the time of empty loss is over. I'm as new as the long rows of vines…I'm as old as the earth. The rain pelts against us, I smell the soil as it dampens and starts to saturate. "I love you," I rasp. "I love you, Edward."

He shudders against me and cups the back of my head as I soar and twist above the earth and it's wild as the outdoors, and that burst that release, and I float as I parachute down, down. I hold onto him, wrapped around him. It's endless, it's timeless. But for the rain I wouldn't know where I was.

And his weight grows heavy, and I laugh some and so does he.

We laugh, I giggle, I'm so happy. We're so happy.

"Marry me, Bella," he says.

And I gasp a little as the rain is furious enough to pelt my face.

"What?" I say. And I'm not laughing. My head has blown up with a big fat, what?

I feel a rock under my shoulder. He rolls off and adjusts his sopping clothes and I do the same with less effort and we are on our feet in an awkward way, and I'm staring at him, at his plastered hair…and shirt. "Well?" he says, no laughter either, but he's hanging bold. He knows how to handle me.

"You're crazy," I say. Because…he is.

"That's the only place this can go," he says.

"Not really."

"Yeah," he says. "Don't dig it up."

Water is running down my face. He takes my hand.

"I just got here," I say. It's so fast. And there's complications. I don't remember them for one second, then they start to line up and the sky cracks open and rips out threats and slaughter.

"Come on," he says and we start to move. He's pulling me and I think I've lost a shoe.

And all I can think is, where the hell is his mother?


	24. Chapter 24

A/N If you nominated my book, Running With Monkeys, on Kindlescout, I thank you. If you haven't voted, would you please? Here is the link: p/KBJLVQYHJ8AW

Thanks

Suit Girl 24

"Bella, is that you?" Alice calls through the steam.

I'm in the shower, and this shower, this house for that matter. Everything is beautiful. Quality. My hand rests against the white veiny marble, beside the series of controls on a long stainless column that holds a button for every conceivable combination of spray to soothe and cleanse the human body.

I came in here to cry. I thought. But the reality of the shower has overpowered me, lulled me, comforted me like the mother…neither Edward, apparently, nor myself ever had.

"Who else would it be?" I call back, miffed at Alice for some reason, mostly her unawareness that I'm in…what am I in?

A state.

"He's so goofy!" She says entering the bathroom.

She is toweling the mirror. "Oh dang. I look awful!" she says. Like I was, she is drenched.

"Were you in the rain?" I say, hoping she doesn't notice the pile of my sopping clothes on the floor.

"Um…yeah. I'm…," she picks up my brush and combs her dark hair off her forehead. "God, look at me."

"You're what?" I say, loudly hoping she can finish a damn sentence.

She lays the brush on the marble counter and turns, leaning against the sink. Even with the breaking apart steam I can see it, the spark of life in her eyes. She's always pretty, but right now, she's beautiful…she's…alive.

"He's a total nut! You didn't tell me about him," she says, and our eyes lock. "What's the matter?"

"Nothing," I say, finding the right button that shuts off the water. I squeeze the ends of my hair. "It's just…." I open the heavy glass door and grab a heated towel off the rack. It's thicker than my bedspread back home.

I wrap myself and tuck the end in the top.

"Bella," Alice sings as she follows me from the bathroom.

"Don't start," I say, approaching the bed which holds my gaping suitcase.

She drops on the bed and my suitcase bounces a little. I am digging for…something. Two lightweight suits are in my garment bag hanging on the white door of an antique wardrobe. But I don't want them. Why don't I want them?

"You've been up to something," she says, propped on her elbows.

"You're getting the bed wet," I say.

She shakes her head like a dog.

"Cute," I say.

She is laughing. And blushing.

"What have you been up to?" I rearrange my words.

She is plucking at the plaid duvet. She won't look at me but she's smiling with the 'new Alice,' smile. It's a bit of a 'shove off,' smirk.

"You really want to know?" she snorts.

I just wait.

Her eyes hold mine. "I've been making out with pants boy."

"What?" I repeat, the original pot calling out the kettle. "We just got here," I say to make it worse.

She looks away again, plucking and smirking. My towel falls a little and I fuss with it, rather righteously.

"Don't blow a gasket," she laughs. "We're just having fun."

"Fun? Wasn't Tim like…your entire sexual experience?"

I immediately regret that. All joy leaves her face and evil Alice appears. "That would be you and Jakey-boy, hun."

It knocks me back some. Yeah. That would be me. "Well…not anymore," I say, lift of my chin. She wants to get down, I'll get down.

"What's that mean?" she says, sitting up.

"Forty…forty-five minutes ago in the vineyard…fertility rites."

"What?" she says, the shadow of a smile returning, but it's more judgment than a high-five.

"I uh…did it on the ground…in the rain."

"You primitive slut," she whispers.

"Well, you're going to do a celeb and be memorable, you have to get creative." I'm trying to laugh, but all of a sudden, I'm a little teary.

She stands quickly. "Bella," she whispers, her arm going around me.

I lean my face against her shoulder and cry.

"What is it? What's the matter?" she says soothingly, just like the Alice I used to know.

"He," I say sobbing the hardest now, so hard I can barely get it out, "asked me to…to marry…marry him."

"What?" she screeches, moving to grab me by the arms and perhaps shake me a little. "What did you say?"

Comfort has switched to interrogation. It slaps the tears right out of me. "His mother…."

"His mother was there?"

"No. I mean…it's so fast." I don't know what I mean. My head is full of objections.

"It is fast," she agrees. "He's a mover and shaker all right. We are in the throat of the Silicon Valley!"

"I just…stalled. He said, you think about it. I said, is that why you wanted me to visit? He said, it wasn't planned. I said, then you can take it back. He said he wasn't taking it back. He was leaving it on me. I said, that's not fair. And he said, it is fair. Would I prefer an arranged marriage? I said no I don't have a yenta, or a mother. But he did. He's got the mother of mothers." My voice has raised a little and I'm looking all over the patterned carpet, like it's a map of my life, with the answers, hidden in the chevrons, if I can just find them.

She shakes me again. "So awkward," she whispers. "Of course, you'll say yes."

I look at her now, the little points of light in her eyes. "Yes? How can I? We live…I mean…how can I?"

"Do I have to slap you?" she says through her small perfect teeth. She shakes me again.

"I don't want to be married," I say. It's what I've always known. I didn't have the best example. It seems impossible. He'd have to come to me. He left me and nailed himself here. Wasn't that his choice?

"You are so rigid and impossible, you're not going to even consider this?" Alice says in high decibles shaking me so hard my towel falls off.

I batt her hands away and kick the towel a few feet, digging through my suitcase and finding my new underwear on the off chance…well I'm glad for my foresight. "Leave me alone."

"Alone is what you are then," she says dramatically. She sweeps into the bathroom, slamming the door.

"You don't have to be mad about it!" I yell. Here I'd been with her through all the crazy year of loss, and I get this in return?

But for some reason, getting to voice my fears makes me feel lighter. I even have to smile. I'm in a fix. I don't see my way out. But that little session under the rain…a lifetime of that? It might be worth any obstacle…no, I have to face reality. What are the odds a guy like him…if he's wanting to marry, settle down, build a legacy…he won't last….

But he's Edward. Didn't I feel it the first time I laid eyes on him? Didn't he reach in…? We haven't even known one another…we had to be careful. We kept it…I did. I tried to be…proper.

I fasten my bra and juggle the girls a little so one nipple isn't ready to shoot out the ceiling or something. How the hell was I going to face him now with all of this hanging? And yet…I couldn't wait to be with him again.

Then I heard it, Alice's unique high pitched wailing coming from the bathroom. Even though we had scant modesty with one another after years of stripping down and trying on various garments for the alteration process, I knocked once before bolting in. She was hunkered down, one elbow on the lid of the toilet. She was a crumpled flower, sobbing on her knees. "Alice?"

"Everybody leaves me," she wailed. "Everybody."

I let out a breath and sat on the stool and half lifted her onto my lap. "Not me," I say stroking her dark wet hair. "Not me, Alice."

"No. I know. You have to. Just…just…I don't know…what…I'll do."

"Shhh," I said rubbing her back, rocking her a little, the way I had several times over the year…the way…a mother might.


	25. Chapter 25

A/N: Two more days for Running With Monkeys to be in the Amazon's Kindlescout program. If you haven't yet, please go to the Kindlescout site and look me up—Diane Munier, and nominate this story for publication. Consider it my Christmas gift, but don't cross me off your list. If it gets published through them, you will get a free copy. If it doesn't make it, I'll be putting it on Amazon in ebook and paper. And thank you little elves for this and all you have done to encourage me. Much love this Christmas season.-Diane

Suit Girl 25

Edward's hands are made for holding a wine glass. I come from an elegant world. I make people find their…inner elegant…ness. It is usually there, lurking somewhere, and if it isn't to be found, I am able to assemble the right attire and create the illusion. But let me tell you about Edward Cullen…elegance comes naturally. It is innate. John Lennon's, "Something in the Way She Moves." Only…he moves. The way he handles the glass, the stem of the glass with the tips of his fingers, deft, gentle touch, his wrist always relaxed, I love it cuffed, I love it bare and the forearm revealed, the strength in that line…. And when he raises the glass to his willing lips, those lips soft and warm on mine, or anywhere on me, under my ear, oh God, the slight tip of his head and the silent movement in his throat.

Au naturel.

I stare. Frequently. I seek refuge in my own glass. Breathe. He wants me to marry him. Breathe.

We are tasting a red with the steaks he's cooked to perfection. I am glad he has something to do. It isn't awkward, exactly, but it is intense and I'm so there, and I'm floating above, time is rushing, time doesn't exist.

There is no coming back from what happened in the vineyard.

"We thought you were just a sucky wine-maker," Alice says, more hyper than ever. It's as if she is defying the sad girl I'd held an hour before.

She heartily tips the stemware to drain the red. I watch to make sure she isn't rewarded with a red moustache. But no, just a dark top lip that looks pretty cute as she licks over it. At least Jasper seems to think so, seems to love the lick and everything else she does.

I wonder…well know, he is a player. I can see it. He knows how to woo. And she is very willing. Matter of fact, I entertain a fleeting, panicked thought that Edward and I are not the only…rompers in the vineyard. And she and Jasper have just met!

"Bella?" Edward says, doing little to snap me out of my happy fog, my candy coated float. I'm waiting for the oompa-loompas to appear as he holds a charred piece of veg to my lips.

I obediently take the bite. "What is it?" I say, drinking it down with a slurp of the red.

"Rutabaga," he laughs.

"That wasn't nice!" It was. It had been delicious. Just different.

"You don't like?" he says. And he says it sexy because his voice is smooth, smooth…smooth. Like this wine and this night sky that's been washed into a deep gray. I love gray.

"Yes. But…." But nothing. It is all happening so fast. I am flooded. Even my taste buds…flooded. And worse…or better…every time I look at him it is right there…the vineyard and the feel, the sounds, the sweaty stick between our skin…and the joy.

We aren't fit to be around others now. Not yet. All I can think about is the next time. While I truly hope it's a bed…next time, I also won't protest the gross, muddy earth.

And the look in his eyes? He's thinking the same. Little smiles and smirks, squeezes beneath the glass table.

And here comes his mother. And I sit a little straighter, drain my glass. Edward sees her approach, looks quickly at me.

I smile. Nothing…I mean nothing is going to ruin what I feel. Maybe we can start again…Esme and me. I'm that mature. I'm that…in love.


	26. Chapter 26

Suit Girl 26

Earlier, while he was grilling, I had said, "Where's your mother?" And he had said, "She has a headache." And I said, "Edward…did you…is it okay between the two of you?" And he wouldn't look at me, he fiddled with the grill and said, "It's fine, Bella. I told you, she'll be gone in a couple of days. Don't worry about her." And I said something brilliant like, "I'm not worried. It's her home." And he said, "It's my home." Then he did look at me, his heavy brows raised like I needed to remember that. And we'd taken our food to the table, he'd poured the wine and….

But now, here she comes carrying a tray with slices of cake, the gentle breeze toying with a purple sash she'd tied around the waist of her silky dress and ruffling the hair brackets, or page boy around her very…tight face…not a zombie face, more a vampire face…frozen by time…not ravaged.

She is looking straight at me like she knows there are thoughts. She's underestimated me. I. Q. one hundred and forty. Not even Dad knew that. But I know it. I never, ever forget it.

"The meal wouldn't be complete without some of Rosa's Flan," she says, her teeth so unnaturally white. But I'm used to that. I see people, help them with the illusion, like I said, with the truth beneath the illusion, we've all been bitten, we're all turning into something else…something eternal, we're all getting ready to shed the husk of ourselves to really be ourselves. I don't know why I'm thinking this, but I am. I have been opened.

In the end, what's inside wins. In the end, what you tried to hide…takes over.

I don't know a thing about mothers, I'll admit. But maybe I do. I know my version. Renee gets a C-. I've always been thankful she wasn't an F. But this mother—Esme Cullen, she has new things to teach me and I only signed up for the Edward course.

I watch to see if Esme favors a certain slice of the cake. I imagine crushed razor blades carefully folded into the fruit topping just for me.

"Bella first," she says, setting a plate before me with blinding smile and long purple nails on display.

"Thank you," I say, but I don't really say it because, for all the wine, my throat is suddenly too clenched to make sound.

Esme has a desert wine, and she pours that, moving around like a fairy. Then she almost flits away.

"Where are you going?" Alice says. I kick her under the table, and she says, "Ow." Honestly. A few sips of the vine and she's lost all ability to read my subtle clues. Reminds me of Jacob.

"Oh," Esme says. She shoots a look at Edward, one briefly at me. "Am I allowed?" she says.

Alice is scooting her chair making room. I feel bad that Mommy has to ask permission. I know she thinks it's me holding her out in her own home. At least I think it's hers. It was. She must really hate me now. Don't get me wrong. She's not conciliatory or sheepish. She's bold if anything. If Edward told her to make herself sparse, she's showing she does what she wants.

Alice is gushing. It's beautiful here. Has Jasper always dressed avant-garde?

"His duds hardly qualify as avant-garde," Esme says. "I've been to all the runways—the important ones. No. Our Jasper has expensive taste. But other people," she gestures toward Edward, "tell him how to dress, and if you spend enough money, you get a reputation…avant-garde." She swats at Jasper. She doesn't seem to take him seriously.

He has maintained the crazy suit pants but added crisp white tennis shoes and a T-shirt that is also as bright as his California teeth. He merely smirks at Esme's words, makes no attempt to defend himself, seems unruffled by her privileged snark.

And the one she is giving credit for dressing her nephew? She looks at Edward now. There is such a depth of satisfaction in her eyes. Possession. Disappointment that he…doesn't adequately reciprocate? Oh. And she's angry.

In the Esme course, I think I'm getting an A. Of course, I'm grading myself. She might have another idea.

Edward is quiet, toying with the slosh of wine still in his glass. He adds more and continues to note its clarity perhaps. He seems very far away except for the fingers lightly grazing up and down my arm. I suspect he is tolerating Esme. After all, he'd assured me I wouldn't have to see her again. And here we are.

And the wine is helping. It really is. The smell of damp earth, the cool breeze and green. All the green. Named after me. And Edward, his love…. We'd christened the place. For me, the first since Jacob. A door has etched itself clearly in my mind…finally. I'm not afraid…to look inside. Here. Now.

We'd lost a baby.

Mourning was over, but I hadn't gotten on with it. I'd poured myself into my work. It felt like…creation of one sort. And I needed to keep creating because my greatest…reason…had been taken from me.

And I had wanted her, loved her when she was the size of a bean. My love, making up for all my mother didn't give me. I'd square it by how I'd love her. I'd make it up to the world. My mother got it wrong. But not me. I wanted my child. I fiercely wanted my child.

But fierce want is a dangerous thing.

That's what kept me with Jacob. The fierce want turned to trying to fix what couldn't be fixed and that became control. Habit rooted in fear. I couldn't let go. I'd been so cruel.

I sneak a look now, at Edward. I'd been afraid to feel. Things leave. The most important things…go.

Mom. My father. Even my degree. My baby. So I held Jacob in place. Held him and held him until he stopped struggling and became some strange, unlikeable version of himself. And I grew so angry at him for the very change I'd demanded.

The only thing I'd been able to keep, the constant, was Alice…and the shop. But both would leave me now. Alice would heal. The shop couldn't throw its arms around me at night and take me over the moon. It was a living. Not a life.

Marriage. I know what it means. Does Edward? I think he's strong enough…I pray he is.

So he stares at the red sway in his glass and I stare at him when I can get away with it. We seem to reach a conclusion. We need to be alone. He stands and I stand and we walk away, between the neat rows. We hold hands and walk.

"I don't know what I ever did to attract you. Not really," I end up saying.

"It's there," he says, moving our joined hands behind my back as he pulls me into him. I fit there so well. It's like the wine. Intoxicating. I am tight against him, looking up.

"I don't have it all worked out," I say.

"It'll work," he says.

"I have objections, in my head. But I don't care," I say.

He laughs a little, smooths over my cheek. I lift my face…I lift…and we almost kiss.

"What's that smell?" I say leaning closer to sniff Edward's collar.

He laughs. "It's the grapes—the developing clusters. They flower. It's my favorite time. Pruning is over…and cultivation. Now it happens. Fertilization. That…creates the fruit. Usually no one is watching. The growers have their attention on their barrel stacks and if you blink you miss this completely. But ever since I was a kid…I'd come out here just to breathe. It's…creation.

"What?" he says seeming amused at my reaction to his use of that word. My hands are on his cheeks now.

"I just…thank-you."

"For what?" he says taking one of my hands and pressing his lips against my knuckles.

"For…telling me that. I don't ever want to miss it. This time. I don't ever want to be too busy or forget…the creation."

"So…that's a yes?" he says, a tender smile.

"Yes," I say. "I love you, Edward. I want to be with you. I want to be your wife."

We kiss then. Long. Soft. Then he holds me.

"This is the beginning," he says, stroking my hair.

My arms move to hold him closer.

"The beginning," I whisper.

 _Fade and wrap…._


End file.
